


conversations in sunflowers, irises, and roses

by okamiwind



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Artist and Muse, Dimensional Travel, M/M, Magical Realism, Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed, Strangers to Lovers, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:21:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 39,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23364625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okamiwind/pseuds/okamiwind
Summary: junmyeon paints in pinks and golds. sehun is his masterpiece.
Relationships: Kim Junmyeon | Suho/Oh Sehun
Comments: 79
Kudos: 240





	conversations in sunflowers, irises, and roses

Junmyeon dropped out of school. 

Now, he works 50 hours a week, and most of his job is mindless data input. His hands hurt by the end of the day, and he thinks he’s got a mild to moderate case of carpal tunnel. Most nights, he takes a sleep aid. He thinks he’s depressed. He’s not sure. He’s never been diagnosed so maybe it’s all in his head. When he first looked up the symptoms online a few years ago, he burst into tears, tears that eventually helped him find a dream. 

Weekends are his solace because on weekends, he has the opportunity to paint. He has a little studio set up in the corner of his one-bedroom apartment. He gets good light by the window, and he has a small pothos that spills out over the windowsill. The floor is covered in a dropcloth, and it’s already stained with red and yellow, warm colors that remind him of the summer time even deep within the winter. 

His Master H-frame easel was a gift from his parents on his 18th birthday, and Junmyeon knows it was expensive. Still, he’s been using it for six years now, and he feels like it was worth the investment. Oftentimes, he feels like it is the only thing keeping him alive. If that’s not worth the money, what is? 

He buys canvases instead of stretching them himself. He _could_ do it himself, but it takes more time and more energy, and that’s even more valuable than money sometimes. 

Junmyeon keeps his colors in a wooden box that he got from IKEA. He uses Gamblin. It’s good for the price, and he figures he isn’t doing anything with his art, so there’s no real sense in splurging on something extravagant when there’s no need for it. 

He’s got 150 ml tubes for the most important colors, and he’s got a few of the smaller cans in colors that he’s needed in bigger quantities in the past for special projects. Phthalo Turquoise, Cobalt and Prussian Blue, Viridian, and Titanium White. 

Lately, he hasn’t had the energy. Hasn’t had the wherewithal. It’s been hard. It’s been very hard. Tonight, though. Tonight, he will paint. He tells himself he will. 

Junmyeon sets his bag down by the box, and he picks his colors before he can tell himself he’s being stupid. He’s been favoring blue, cool toned greys, but today, he feels a spot of warmth within him. He grabs his normal palette, the Burnt Umber, the Cadmium Red. He figures he’ll mix what he needs. He grabs out Naples Rose, too, feeling vaguely inspired just by the name. 

He heads to the kitchen quickly, and he makes himself ramen on the stovetop. As it's boiling, he grabs a tall glass from the cabinet. He goes to the refrigerator, fills it halfway with wine from the Franzia box. It’s a deep berry red, and he takes a sip of it immediately, letting it slip down his throat sweetly. 

Days streak past him in thankless daubs of grey and white, and sometimes, he is so lonely that he can taste the desperation on his tongue. 

He eats at his kitchen table, and he watches a video on his phone so that he doesn’t have to be alone with his thoughts. The sound of voices, the pictures moving… it feels like someone is there with him. Someone he can’t touch, someone he can’t speak to, but someone he can hear. 

Someone he can feel. 

After he’s finished with his dinner, he puts everything in the sink under the guise of soaking, and then he heads back to the refrigerator for a refill. He dispenses another generous pour from the white plastic spigot, and he pads to the living room, faces down his decision to paint. 

He’s got no ideas. He doesn’t know what he was thinking. 

It’s Friday, and he is alone. He’d rather be with anyone else but himself. 

Junmyeon takes his glass of wine to the window sill, and he sits down on his stool, staring at the empty white. He shouldn’t have told himself he’d paint—the possibility chokes him sometimes, steals all the hope and inspiration from his head. He takes another sip as he sits there, and then he begins idly mixing paints. He could go abstract, he thinks. Something terrible and indulgent and wonderful, just to lean against his bedroom wall. Rose and tan and white and bright fuckin’ bursts of yellow. Something for cold days. Something to fill up all the empty spaces inside himself. 

He sits there and mixes, but before he realizes what he’s done, he’s filled his palette with pinks, reds, oranges, and yellows, flesh tones and their gradients, contours for _skin_. 

Suddenly, the image in his head is clear. It is a man, naked, but his lower half is covered by a black sheet. A bed sheet. His hair, his eyes… dark. He is sitting on a birch stool, his back to Junmyeon, and his musculature is gorgeous, the kind of body that makes you want to trace over the skin just to admire it. He is looking back over his shoulder, at once completely innocent and unbelievably coy. His features are lovely, and Junmyeon wonders if he might have seen someone who looked like this before because _God_ , his face is so fucking clear. The picture, the man’s voice… it’s almost as if he’s speaking to him. 

_It’s me_ , the voice in his head says, a baritone that is smooth and slippery, gathering on the sibilants like silk catching on a thorn. _Paint me._

“Okay,” Junmyeon says aloud, and he picks up the pink flesh tone on his brush, makes his first stroke. _Okay._  
  


☴

Junmyeon paints, lays color after color. For portraits, he usually paints with a reference because he prefers a more realistic style, but for the boy in his head, he piles paint on, mixes in the cold wax, gives him the texture Junmyeon feels he deserves. He cuts through the edges of him with his knife, and he is suddenly moving, alive on the canvas. Junmyeon wishes he could reach out and touch him, play with the pink of his lips, the red on his cheeks, the warm grey shadow along his shoulder.

He doesn’t think he’s ever felt such inspiration lace through him, and he doesn’t want it to go to waste. He shifts in his seat, and he wonders how much time he’s been sitting there as he finishes up, something that feels like a fucking masterpiece. 

Junmyeon blinks, head dizzy, and when he looks at the time, he squints. He has been sitting there for the whole night. It is morning. How many glasses of wine did he have? His mouth is dry, and his head is aching. He gets up, grabs his glass, and he stumbles just an inch. He laughs at himself, standing up straight. 

The lines of the painting shift and dance, but God, Junmyeon thinks he finally made something beautiful. 

All he can smell is gesso and alcohol, and as he wanders to bed, the birds are singing.  
  


☴

It’s dark when his body kicks him awake.

He groans into the mattress, and he smacks his lips together as he tries to wet his mouth. He needs water. He is in _desperate_ need of water. 

Junmyeon flops onto his back, and he stares at his black ceiling for a moment or two before he realizes just what a state he’s in. His head is fucking pounding, and while he definitely got drunk, he isn’t sure what the fuck is going on. He never gets hangovers this bad, and he squeezes his eyes shut tight to try and will it away. 

He opens his eyes, sees stars dance along the paint of the ceiling. He thinks back to his painting, wonders if he really finished it or was just so fucking exhausted that his brain _told him_ he was finished. He smiles, daydreaming about it. 

His head sinks with another streak of pain, and he decides that he has to get a shower, that he has to get coffee, that he has to get something to eat. He will sort everything out later. 

Junmyeon goes to the bathroom, turns on the shower, and as the water is heating up, he walks out of his room to go turn on the coffee maker. 

As he’s passing the living room, out of the corner of his eye, he sees… a figure. A human figure. He blinks as he walks, thinking he’s seeing shadows again. It wouldn’t be the first time. He sets up the coffee pot, and when he is walking back towards the bedroom, he realizes, no, he wasn’t seeing things. Or maybe he is. 

There, lying across his couch, eyes closed, hair ruffled with sleep, is the boy from the painting. 

Junmyeon fucking _panics_ , screeches so loudly that the man sits up, squinting angrily at him. 

“Who the fuck are you?” Junmyeon asks. 

“You’re so loud,” the man says. 

“Who _are_ you? _Get out!_ What the _fuck_ ” 

“I’m Sehun,” he says, voice croaking with sleep, and he gestures to the now _empty_ painting, just a background of an art studio left behind. “You painted me.” 

“I-I painted you,” Junmyeon says. “W-What is fucking going on?” 

“I dunno,” Sehun says. “One minute I was living in the painting, and then, the next thing I know, here I am.” 

Junmyeon stands there, staring at the boy on his couch, wrapped up in the black sheet. He lets his eyes dance over his body, shocked, confused, head fucking pounding. 

“I’m dreaming.” 

“No, you’re not,” Sehun says. “You’re awake, and you’re hungover.” 

“I’m going back to bed,” Junmyeon says, and he runs back to his bedroom, closes the door. 

He gets back into his bed, and he pulls the covers over his head, willing sleep to find him once more. 

Eventually, it does.  
  


☴

Junmyeon wakes in the early morning as it pours through his window. He stretches, happy. He might have needed all that sleep. He tells himself it was good for him.

He stands up with a great stretch, promising himself that _today_ , he will shower, get coffee and food, go grocery shopping. His cabinets are bare, and he needs to prepare for the long week ahead of him. 

Junmyeon ruffles a hand through his bedhead, exits the bedroom, knowing that he will find the living room empty, Sehun back in the painting where he belongs. He knows he’s probably mentally ill, but certainly he’s not _that_ bad, right? He’s deranged, but not _that_ deranged.

He stands at the end of the couch, blinking quickly like within one of the short moments that his eyes are closed, the image before him might disappear. He shuts his eyes, squeezes them until he gets dizzy, and when he opens his eyes, stars burst. 

Sehun is sitting there, the sheet now tied around his body in a toga of sorts. He looks up at Junmyeon, and his eyes beg for pity. 

“I’m not dealing with this,” Junmyeon says, and he rushes past the living room, ignoring the sound of swishing fabric as Sehun hurriedly chases after him. “God, it’s already fucking Sunday, and I’ve done absolutely nothing with my weekend.” 

He goes to his refrigerator, grabs a water bottle, and swallows it as quickly as he can manage. He is breathing heavily by the end. He’s losing it. He’s finally fucking losing it. 

“You brought me to life!” Sehun cheers. “That’s not nothing. I think it’s good.” 

“You’re not _real_ ,” Junmyeon says. “I’m fucking insane. Like, more insane than I previously thought I was.” 

“You’re not insane,” Sehun says, and he takes Junmyeon by the shoulders, smiling at him. “There was magic in your paint.” 

“There is _ammonia_ in the gesso, and clearly I have not had good enough ventilation,” Junmyeon clarifies. “I need to get fresh air. I’m going out, and by the time I get back, you will be gone.” 

“I can’t be gone,” Sehun says. “I live here now.” 

“Did you co-sign the lease?” 

“No,” Sehun says. 

“Well, then you don’t live here,” Junmyeon says, and he goes to the living room, grabs his keys and his wallet. “I’m going to the store.” 

Sehun looks down. “You’re not wearing shoes. They won’t let you in.” 

Junmyeon gives him a withering stare as he steps into his sneakers, not even bothering for socks. 

“Goodbye forever,” Junmyeon says, and as he closes the door behind him, he hears Sehun’s tiny voice say _See you later_. 

He locks the door, goes to Sprouts in his fucking pajamas.  
  


☴

He finds the act of grocery shopping soothing even in times of peril, so as he is picking up the normal assortment of junk food and things to pretend like he’s a real, functioning adult human, he calms himself down. Everyone sees things from time to time, right? Visual and auditory hallucinations come from stress and overwork, don’t they? Sehun, the idea of him… this too shall pass. He won’t have to book an appointment at the psych place. He can deal with it on his own. At the very least, he is resilient. He will survive this strange period of his life.

Junmyeon tells himself this every day. He will get through it. He will. 

He feels rejuvenated by the time he leaves the store, and he carries his bags in his arms as he walks back to the apartment complex. He climbs the two flights of stairs back to his place, and he sets the bags down at the door as he begins to unlock it. 

_He won’t be there_ , he tells himself. _Sehun will be back in the painting where he belongs._

Junmyeon pushes the door open, and Sehun is sitting on his stool, staring at the empty painting. 

“God,” Junmyeon whines, and he picks up his groceries and brings them in before slamming the door shut behind him. “Go back. Get out of here.” 

“I tried,” Sehun says, and he brushes his fingers along the dried paint, turning back to look at Junmyeon over his shoulder. “It won’t let me back in.” 

“Try again,” Junmyeon says. 

“I don’t know what you expect me to do,” Sehun says, furrowing his brow. “You’re being really mean.” 

“Put yourself in my position,” Junmyeon says. “I’m seeing things. I’m hearing things.” 

“You’re not… you’re not _crazy_!” Sehun says, spinning around on the stool to face Junmyeon. “I’m _real_.” 

“You _can’t_ be,” Junmyeon says. “Magic doesn’t exist. People don’t just… people don’t just walk out of paintings!” 

“I have,” Sehun says, and he turns back to what’s left of the painting, smiling at it before looking back to Junmyeon. “See?” 

“I’m gonna go about my day like you’re not here,” Junmyeon says. “I’m going to do what I need to do, and eventually, you will be gone. Nothing but a figment of my imagination.” 

“Okay,” Sehun says. “If you’re gonna do that, can I use your television?” 

Junmyeon rolls his eyes, and he brings his grocery bags to the kitchen. He’s gotta get his ice cream in the freezer anyway.  
  


☴

Junmyeon goes to bed, wakes up on Monday morning, and gets into the shower. He washes his hair, and he thinks about whether or not Sehun will be there. It’s too early, he reasons. No way he’ll see a hallucination at 5:30. It’s too early for insanity.

He walks out of the bedroom, sees the lump of Sehun’s form strewn across his couch, covered only by the black sheet. He rolls his eyes as he goes to his coffee maker, and he immediately begins to prepare breakfast. 

“Hey,” Junmyeon says sharply, but the lump of Sehun’s body doesn’t react. “ _Hey._ ” 

Sehun twitches with life before he sits up, hair sticking up every which way. He stares at Junmyeon. “Hi. W-What time’sit?” 

“Time for breakfast, if you’re going to eat,” he says sternly. 

“What are you eating?” Sehun asks. 

“You probably don’t need to eat anyway, so does it really matter?” 

“Why would you assume I didn’t have to eat?” Sehun asks him. 

“Because you’re made out of paint, apparently,” Junmyeon says, and he grabs two of the peach flavored yogurts from the fridge.

“I’m not made of paint,” Sehun says before looking off towards the door. “Well, I _was_ , but now I’m, like, skin and stuff.” 

“You are made of delusion,” Junmyeon says. “This is your last chance. Come eat.” 

Sehun scrambles off the couch and sits at Junmyeon’s table. For a moment, the visual of him is all Junmyeon can focus on. Silly as it sounds, he looks like a fucking painting. He looks vulnerable, lovely. His hair looks soft and messy as if someone’s run their hands through it. It’s been quite a while since Junmyeon has had anyone to eat breakfast with, eat _any_ meals with, and stupidly, the sight of someone at his table makes tears leap to his eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” Sehun asks. “Why are you crying?” 

“I’m not _crying_ ,” Junmyeon says, and he goes to the cabinet, grabs two packs of cinnamon and brown sugar Belvita before tossing one to Sehun. “Here.” 

“I’ve never had this before,” Sehun says happily, and he unwraps the little package of breakfast biscuits before looking at Junmyeon expectantly. “Will there be coffee?” 

“H-Have you, like, had coffee before?” 

“Yes, I’ve had coffee,” Sehun says, but he says it like Junmyeon is _stupid_ for asking. 

“Okay, how would a fucking painting drink coffee?” Junmyeon says, and he pours himself a cup, crossing his arms as he stares back at Sehun. “Hm? What’s your answer for that?” 

“I don’t _know_ ,” Sehun says. “It’s just… that’s just how it was! Before!” 

“Before you—” 

“Before I came here,” Sehun says. “Everything was the same but…” 

“But what?” 

“Drippier,” Sehun says. Junmyeon snorts, but he feels guilty once Sehun looks down to his hands like he feels dumb. “I don’t know. My head was dizzy for a while, but now it feels clear here.” 

A little piece of Junmyeon’s heart pulls, and he grabs another mug from his cabinet before handing Sehun the full one. Sehun takes it, and for a split second, they are connected, Sehun’s fingers brushing against Junmyeon’s. It is feels like a fucking firework, a sparkling burst of heat between them, and Junmyeon withdraws so quickly that he’s afraid Sehun might drop the coffee. 

“F-Fuck,” Junmyeon says, and he stands back, staring at Sehun with wide eyes. “You burned me!” 

“I think you burned _me_ ,” Sehun smiles. 

Junmyeon stutters for a moment before turning back to his coffee maker, pouring himself a cup. He sits down across from Sehun, and he gestures to the Belvita, to the yogurt, to the coffee. 

“Eat,” Junmyeon says. “A-And try to be quiet.” 

“Okay,” Sehun says, and he rips off the little foil lid on the yogurt, digging into it. “I’ve never had peach yogurt before.” 

Junmyeon sips his coffee, and he burns his tongue. “Fuck.” He looks up at Sehun. “What, they don’t have yogurt in the paint dimension?” 

“No, I just… I just prefer strawberry,” Sehun answers. 

“How would you know if you never tried it?” 

“I guess you’re right,” Sehun says, a brushstroke smile on his face. He scoops up some yogurt, lifts it to his mouth, and tastes it. “Hm. My stance holds.” 

“Well, sucks to suck,” Junmyeon says. “Peach yogurt over strawberry.” 

“Whatever you say,” Sehun says. A beat. “I thought we weren’t supposed to talk.” 

“You’re the one who brought it up.” 

“I like to talk.” 

Junmyeon chews his lips as he waits for his coffee to cool. “Just be quiet. Be quiet, and eat your food.” 

“All right,” Sehun says, and he eats the rest of his yogurt in silence, humming happily when he takes his first sip of coffee.

Junmyeon spends little time getting ready for work. He doesn’t need to impress anyone, so he puts no effort into his outfit, his hair. He leaves Sehun on the couch, watching cartoons on the kids channel. 

He grabs his bag, his keys. He stands there in the living room, staring at Sehun. It is a dream. It’s nothing more than his mind’s creation. 

“I’m going to work,” Junmyeon says. “I’ll be back later.” 

Sehun turns. “What if I get hungry?” 

“I don’t know,” Junmyeon says. “You aren’t real.” 

Sehun frowns, turns back to the television. “Fine. Bye.” 

Junmyeon stares at him, huffs. “You can eat whatever you find. Just don’t… you know, go crazy or anything.” 

Sehun lets a blinding smile split across his face, and he faces Junmyeon slowly. 

“Okay,” Sehun says. “I promise.” 

_Be gone by the time I get back,_ Junmyeon thinks, but in reality, he is starting to feel like, even if he is crazy, he doesn’t really want to kick Sehun out.  
  


☴

When Junmyeon returns, he puts his key into his lock, and he pauses, completely and totally ready for his apartment to be empty. He lets his breath even out, and he closes his eyes, wondering why it feels sad to think about.

“Are you coming in?” Sehun says, voice softened and damp through the door. 

Junmyeon huffs out as he turns the key, and he opens his eyes to see Sehun standing there in his toga, smiling at him. 

“Welcome back,” Sehun says, and Junmyeon’s heart tenses in his chest. Would it be so terrible to live in this delusion? “How was work?” 

“Terrible,” Junmyeon laughs, and he sets his bag down. “What did you do all day?” 

“I watched TV.” Sehun turns, looks Junmyeon up and down. “What do you do for work?” 

“I work at an office.” 

“What do you do at the office?” 

“Data entry,” Junmyeon answers. 

“That sounds… interesting,” Sehun says, and he follows Junmyeon closely as he walks to the kitchen. 

“My mistake, then. I misled you. It is very boring, and I hate it.” 

“That sucks,” Sehun says. 

Junmyeon goes to the fridge, gets wine, and he decides to indulge. “What do you do? Back, like, in your own world?” 

“Oh.” Junmyeon looks back because he hears Sehun’s smile, and he looks just as pleased as he sounds. “It’s silly.” 

“What do you do?” 

“No,” Sehun says, uncharacteristically shy, looking every bit like the boy that Junmyeon painted. 

“What is it? Porn?” 

“ _Porn?_ ” 

“Well, what else would make you not wanna say it?” Junmyeon wonders. 

“I’m a _model_ ,” Sehun says indignantly. 

“For porn?” 

“For _pictures_ ,” Sehun says. 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah, _oh_.” 

Junmyeon tilts his head to the side, and he supposes it isn’t crazy. Even in another dimension, Sehun was his muse. His skin is clear, rosey, and unblemished. His lips are well-shaped, the bottom just slightly fuller than the top. The Cupid’s bow is defined without being sharp. The bridge of his nose is strong, and his brow… his brow bone. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Sehun asks, tilting his head to the side. 

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” Junmyeon says. “Go wash up.” 

“I took a shower today,” Sehun says, very proud of himself. 

“Without asking.” 

“Well, I assumed you would rather me be clean,” Sehun answers, and he goes to the sink, sticks his hands under the running water before turning back to smile at Junmyeon. “Was I correct in that assumption?” 

“I guess,” Junmyeon says. “What did you eat today?” 

“You had frozen pizza,” Sehun says. 

“You ate my frozen pizza.”

“Well, you told me to eat,” Sehun says. Junmyeon frowns. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… upset you.” 

“It’s fine.” 

“You look like you’re about to cry,” Sehun says. 

“Well, believe it or not, it’s been a weird couple of days for me,” Junmyeon says. 

Sehun smiles at him. “I believe you.” 

“Is ramen okay with you?” Junmyeon asks. 

“Sure. That’s fine.” 

Junmyeon gets two packs from the cabinet, gets the water, and starts it over the burner. He takes a sip of his wine, lets it bleed over his tongue before he swallows it. The water comes to a boil, and he adds in the flavor packets and the little veg packets too before he turns on the timer.

“Do you always drink a lot?” Sehun asks. 

“Now I’m being judged?” 

“It was just a question.” 

“I’ve got depression,” Junmyeon says, and it’s the first time he says it out loud. He looks down at his feet, ashamed of the way tears jump to his eyes. 

“Do you ever talk to anyone?” Sehun asks. 

“You’re the person I’ve talked to most in the past couple days,” Junmyeon laughs, and he is too scared to look into Sehun’s eyes. “Isn’t that pathetic?” 

“I don’t think so.” Junmyeon looks up into his eyes. “What?” 

“You’re definitely a figment of my imagination,” Junmyeon says. 

“How do you figure that?” 

“No one real is ever this nice,” Junmyeon says. 

Sehun opens his mouth to respond, but he is cut off but the blaring of the timer. 

Junmyeon goes to the oven, turns off the fire. He stirs, feels Sehun’s eyes gliding along his shoulders. He portions it out into two bowls, and he slides Sehun’s over to him. 

“I’m sorry,” Sehun says. 

It makes Junmyeon look up from his ramen. “Why?” 

“I feel like I’m upsetting you. If I could leave… I think I would.” 

“W-What do you mean?” Junmyeon asks. “What do you mean, _if I could_?” 

“I tried to leave the apartment today,” Sehun shrugs. “When you were gone.” 

“What happened?” 

Sehun frowns. “I fell asleep, and… and the next thing I knew, I was back on the couch.” 

For a moment, Junmyeon feels a hole open up in his heart. Sehun tried to leave when he was gone. _What a profoundly sad thing_ , Junmyeon thinks. _He wanted to assuage my fears by giving me what I was asking for. His absence._

He feels guilty, feels stupid and mean. He doesn’t like feeling those things. He wants… he wants to be nice even if this means he’s deep within his own psychosis. 

Junmyeon sighs, and he points towards Sehun’s bowl. “Eat, okay? It’ll… it’ll get cold or whatever.” 

Sehun obeys, and they eat in relative silence. Junmyeon doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to bridge the gap between _you’re stuck_ and _you can stay_. It feels insane, feels ridiculous, but he thinks his only option is to embrace the hallucination, the illusion. He cannot pretend like it hasn’t been nice having someone else in his space, even if it’s someone of his own creation. 

Junmyeon sips what’s left of his wine down as Sehun finishes up, and when Sehun stands, he sticks out his hand for Junmyeon’s bowl. 

“I got it,” Junmyeon says. 

“It’s cool,” Sehun says, “let me get it.” 

Junmyeon reluctantly gives Sehun his bowl, and he turns, watches Sehun’s upper back move and shift as he washes the dishes and the pot, the utensils. Sehun spins back around as he puts the cleaned dishes in the drying rack, and he leans against the counter, arms folded across his chest. 

“Can I be honest?” Junmyeon asks. 

“Yeah. You can be honest.” 

“I don’t know what to do with you,” Junmyeon says, and he frowns. “I’m sorry.” 

“I don’t know what to do either,” Sehun says. “I mean… I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t know how to go back where I belong.” 

Junmyeon’s heart aches. For the first time, he considers Sehun as if he is someone displaced from his home, somewhere new. On his own. He frowns. 

“Y-You can stay. You can sleep on the couch,” Junmyeon says. “Until I can… until I can figure out what I’m supposed to do here.” 

Sehun wrinkles his nose. “The couch?” 

“Oh my _God_ , fine,” Junmyeon says. “Take the bed.” 

Sehun’s smile is small, satisfied. “Okay.” 

Junmyeon goes to the bedroom, immediately starts stripping it, and he feels Sehun approach from behind him. He turns, sees Sehun standing there with his hands behind his back. 

“What?” Junmyeon asks. 

“Should I help?” 

“Do you know how to make a bed?” Junmyeon asks. He turns, points to the closet. “Get the clean sheets. I mean, you know what sheets are, right? You’re wearing one, after all.” 

“Look, _you_ painted me like this. I’m offended,” Sehun says. 

“As far as I know, today is only your third day alive in this universe,” Junmyeon says. “I don’t know what you know or don’t know.” 

“I have all the knowledge of the person you were dreaming of when you painted me,” Sehun answers. “I don’t know how it works, but… but I remember being painted. And when you paint, you dreamt of my whole life.” 

“I wasn’t dreaming of anyone or anything.” 

Sehun tilts his head to the side. “Then why am I here? _How_ am I here?”

He squints at Sehun. It’s entirely too much philosophizing for a Monday evening. 

“Oh, shut up,” Junmyeon says. “Just help with the fitted sheet.” 

Sehun smiles as he grabs a corner, tucking it around the mattress neatly. Together, they make the bed up easily, and Junmyeon thinks it’s nice, a lot easier with two people. He pulls up his side of the comforter, and he pats it down nicely. 

“You can get another shower,” Junmyeon says, “if you want. And, uh, I have some clothes. Some big clothes that might fit you.” 

“Okay,” Sehun smiles. “Thanks.” 

“I’ll get it ready,” Junmyeon says. “You can get in.” 

“It feels silly.” 

“What?” 

“Two showers in one day,” Sehun shrugs. 

“In the summer, I get two,” Junmyeon says. “I don’t like sweat.” 

“Huh,” Sehun says, and as he moves through to the bathroom, he looks over his shoulder. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Junmyeon swallows thickly as he hears the water turned on in the bathroom, echoing. 

He goes to his closet, grabs a few items of clothing that he exclusively wears when he is in the deepest parts of his sadness, big hoodies that swallow him up, sweatpants that barely stay up without him constantly readjusting them. He takes everything he can, folding them up nice and neatly and setting them on the dresser. At the center of the bed, he places a big oversized t-shirt that he’s had forever, a black hoodie, a pair of navy sweats that have the elastics torn at the bottoms. 

He stands back, worries over whether or not he should give him a pair of underwear. Maybe he should go to the store. Maybe he should buy a few things specifically for Sehun. He goes to his closet again, and he digs around for a while. 

Junmyeon finds a new pair of gym shorts, and hopes that will do for now. He comes back out into the bedroom to find the door opening, steam rolling out. Sehun’s wet, naked with only one of Junmyeon’s towels wrapped around his waist. His chest is well defined, his arms toned. His cheeks are red, blushing after all the hot water. 

He pushes wet hair out of his eyes, smiles charmingly at Junmyeon. 

“You get good water pressure,” Sehun praises. 

“U-Uh, yeah,” Junmyeon says. “It’s probably my favorite thing about this place.” 

Sehun’s eyes go to the bed. “Ah. Clothes.” He smiles at Junmyeon again. “Thanks.” 

“Yeah.” 

Sehun stares at him as he adjusts the towel around his waist. “So, uh…” 

“Right,” Junmyeon says, and he hurries out into the living room, shutting the door to his room behind him. 

Strangely, he finds it hard to catch his breath, almost as if he’s been running. He sits on the couch, willing himself to calm down, and a moment later, Sehun emerges from the room. He looks just as handsome as he always does, and he takes a seat next to Junmyeon. 

“You know, I didn’t mind the sheet,” Sehun says, “but clothes are nice.” 

“Sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” Sehun says. “I don’t know how I would react if I was in your shoes.” 

“I honestly think… and I know this is so stupid, but I really think I’m going crazy,” Junmyeon laughs. “I mean, I already felt so alone. And now I’m dreaming… now I’m seeing you.” 

“I know nothing I say will change your mind, but—” 

“But what?” 

“But I know I’m real,” Sehun says. “And I know I was brought here for a reason.” 

“What do you think that reason is, then?” Junmyeon asks. 

“I don’t know,” Sehun says, and he looks into Junmyeon’s eyes, and Junmyeon wonders how this happened, how he managed to paint someone so beautiful. “I think maybe it has something to do with you.” 

“I just… I just painted a picture,” Junmyeon whispers. 

Sehun smiles with a little roll of his eyes. “Like it’s nothing to create art.” 

“I don’t make art.” 

“What would you call it, then?” 

“I don’t know,” Junmyeon says. 

“Well, until you figure it out,” Sehun smiles, “I’ll call it art.” Junmyeon finds himself smiling back. “What do you normally do after work?” 

“Uh, it depends, I guess.” 

“Depends on what?” 

“My mood,” Junmyeon says. “Whether or not I feel up to painting.” 

“What do you work on?” Sehun asks. Junmyeon points towards the easel in the corner of the room. “Ah. You work on me.” 

Junmyeon feels heat rise to his face. “Okay, it’s not like that. You were just… my most recent thing.” 

“What have you been working on? Before?” 

“Before you?” Junmyeon asks, and Sehun nods. “Um. To be honest, it’s been a while since I managed to do anything.” 

“Why’s that?” Sehun asks. 

“I haven’t felt good enough to start,” Junmyeon shrugs. 

“Why not?” 

“No ideas felt good enough.” 

Sehun stares at him for a couple awkward moments, and Junmyeon feels like he should say anything. He racks his brain for something to inject into the conversation, but nothing comes to him. He readjusts himself in his seat, tucks his legs up underneath him on the couch. Junmyeon looks towards the television, off, and he thinks about maybe getting up to turn it on if not just for the noise. 

“You could try and paint me again,” Sehun offers suddenly. 

Junmyeon looks at him, blinks. “What?” 

“I’m a model,” Sehun says. “That’s what I do anyway.” He folds his arms across his chest. “You know. Sit, be pretty.”

“W—Do you think maybe that’s the secret?” Junmyeon asks. “Like, it’s a spell? And in order to send you back to your world, I have to paint you again?” 

Sehun shrugs. “I dunno. I guess, maybe.” 

“Oh, that’s… that makes sense,” Junmyeon says, and a giddy jolt of energy runs through him. “Okay, we can do this. We can do it.” 

“Just tell me what to do,” Sehun says. 

“Take off your shirt,” Junmyeon commands. “A-And lie down.” 

Sehun squints. “What?” 

“Just do it,” Junmyeon says quickly, and he gets up, gets his palette, starts mixing.  
  


☴

Sehun has an arm over his head, forearm resting against the arm of the couch. The way he lays, the look on his face. Junmyeon can’t remember the last time he had a live model. It’s a lot more intimate than he remembers. His mouth waters as he looks into Sehun’s eyes, as he studies the light glinting in the reflection.

“Is this okay?” Sehun asks, and he twitches with aborted movement, his abdomen flexing as he tenses. “I mean, should I—” 

“This is good,” Junmyeon says, and he hides back behind the easel. “Y-You look good.” 

“Is that a compliment?” Junmyeon listens to the smile across his lips. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

Junmyeon looks back around as he works on Sehun’s eyes, dark and lovely and glinting. Sehun stares back at him like he is staring at someone he wants to fuck, and a red string of arousal hooks itself through Junmyeon’s stomach. He nervously looks back to his painting, wondering how he managed to make someone like Sehun, how he managed to bring him through the canvas, through the oil. He adds a brighter color to Sehun’s eyes, more dimension as the amber light makes them sparkle. 

“When did you start painting?” Sehun asks, and when Junmyeon looks at him, Sehun raises a brow. 

“Uh, when I was six,” Junmyeon says. 

“Well, everyone paints at six,” Sehun smiles. 

“Y-Yeah,” Junmyeon laughs. “I guess so.” 

“When did you start taking it seriously?” 

“When I was about, uh, thirteen, I guess,” Junmyeon says. 

“Why?” Sehun asks. 

“Why what?” Junmyeon asks. 

“Why thirteen? What happened?” 

“A teacher,” Junmyeon says, and he looks back to the painting, losing himself again in Sehun’s eyes. “My art teacher… she saw my doodles, and she said t-that I should take an art class. Pursue it.” He smiles as he remembers the memory. “She said she could see I put a lot of work into them. She said she could see my talent.” 

“And that pushed you,” Sehun says. 

“Everyone wants to hear they’re special,” Junmyeon answers, and he looks back to Sehun, finds him smiling. “No smile.” Sehun drops the grin with a wink, and Junmyeon spits out a laugh. “You’re stupid.” 

“You like me,” Sehun says, and it makes Junmyeon hides back behind his painting, needing a bit of refuge in order to deal with the heat that rises to his head. “It’s okay. You wouldn’t have painted me if you didn’t think I was attractive.” 

“Shut up,” Junmyeon says. “Y-You… you have nice features.” 

“You wanna fuck me.” 

Junmyeon gasps, grips the side of the easel as he peeks back out. “Shut _up_.” 

Sehun raises his brows with a smile. “That’s not a no.” 

“I don’t _know_ you,” Junmyeon says, affronted. “I don’t know that you’re _real_.” 

Sehun brings a hand down his chest, pushes it down his stomach. “Wanna find out?” 

“Oh my _God_ ,” Junmyeon says, and he goes back to his painting. “Sit there and be good.” 

Junmyeon loses himself in the act of painting, and Sehun is quiet for the rest of the session. Junmyeon is thankful. He doesn’t know how much more teasing he could handle, especially from someone who looks like Sehun. He works, lays on color after color. Sehun’s form is delicious to paint, and his eyes glaze over the curves, over the ridges. His vision goes hazy, and he blinks quickly, shaking his head until it clears. 

“Hey, Junmyeon,” Sehun says, and Junmyeon peeks around the easel again. “It’s getting kind of late.” 

Junmyeon frowns, and he taps his phone for the time. Almost midnight. 

“Shit, I… I’m not done.” 

“It’s okay,” Sehun says. “We can finish some other time.” 

“I should finish it now,” Junmyeon says. “I don’t know if I’m gonna… if I’ll be inspired again anytime soon.” 

“There’s no rush,” Sehun says. “Promise. You—We can take our time, okay?” 

Junmyeon looks into the warmth of Sehun’s eyes. It feels like a dream, staring at someone as handsome as Sehun. He must be dreaming. Maybe he’s in a coma. Maybe this is the after life. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Sehun asks. 

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” Junmyeon says. “Just go brush your teeth.” 

“I don’t have a toothbrush,” Sehun says. 

“O-Oh.” He frowns. “I’ll get you one tomorrow.” 

Sehun smiles. “Cool.” He turns off towards the bedroom, and Junmyeon listens as he hears him walk into the bathroom. He hears water, and then he hears Sehun gargling. 

Junmyeon rolls his eyes as he grabs a couple blankets from a basket, starts folding up a makeshift bed for himself on the couch. A few moments later, Sehun emerges, raising a brow quizzically. 

“You’re not going to bed?” Sehun asks. Junmyeon gestures to the couch. “I thought we were gonna share.” 

“What? No.” 

“Why not?” Sehun asks. “It’s your bed.” 

“You’re my guest,” Junmyeon says. “For the time being, it’s yours.” 

“We could share,” Sehun says. “I mean, it’s not like we’re twelve. It wouldn’t be weird if we touched.” 

“We’re not going to touch,” Junmyeon says, “because I’ll be staying on the couch.” 

“You’re being stubborn.” 

“Yeah, maybe.” 

Sehun pouts his lips. “Come on. Please?” 

“Why do you want me to sleep next to you so badly?” Junmyeon asks, and as the words pour out of his mouth, heat slaps him on the back of his neck. 

Sehun smiles, takes another step closer to him. He takes one of the blankets in Junmyeon’s hands, pulls it away. 

“I’ll be gone soon anyway if your hypothesis is correct,” Sehun says. “It’s not _why_ , it’s _why not_?” 

Junmyeon huffs. It’s been a long time since he shared a bed with anyone. He can’t say he doesn’t miss it. A basic comfort. 

“Awesome,” Sehun says. “Go ahead. Go get ready for bed.” 

Junmyeon brushes his teeth, washes his face, puts on some pajamas, and once he steps back into the bedroom, Sehun is already underneath the covers. 

“Hi,” he says, and Junmyeon is hit by a bolt of deja vu. 

“Hi,” Junmyeon says. “I have work in the morning. I’ll try not to wake you.” 

“I don’t mind getting up,” Sehun says. 

“We’ll see.” Junmyeon gets underneath his covers, shuts off the bedside table. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m good.” 

“Okay,” Junmyeon says. “Um. Good night.” 

“Night.” 

Junmyeon turns onto his side, facing away from Sehun, and he tries to close his eyes. It is tense, his whole body is strung tight with it, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to sleep like this. It will be the worst night of sleep he’s ever gotten, and then he’ll be exhausted come morning, and he— 

“Go to sleep,” Sehun says. “You’re so loud.” 

“I’m not saying anything,” Junmyeon whispers. 

“I know, and still…” 

Junmyeon bites his lips, shuts his eyes. There is heat radiating from the other side of the bed, Sehun’s body a furnace beneath the blankets, and it gives Junmyeon the overwhelming feeling that this is becoming something, something he won’t be able to send away through canvas and oil.  
  


☴

The next morning, Junmyeon wakes up before his alarm. He is about to close his eyes and go back to sleep when he realizes why he is so extremely comfortable.

Sehun’s body is curled around his, an arm thrown around Junmyeon’s waist like it belongs there, like it’s been there a million times before. 

He has one moment to panic before he realizes he has to extricate himself before Sehun wakes up. Junmyeon acts on his thoughts, delicate and soft, the smoothe brushstrokes of movement. He tries his best to be quiet as he pulls himself out of bed, and when he’s standing up, staring down, he is happy to find Sehun still fast asleep. 

He gets ready for work, and then, he decides he’ll need to make a pitstop. 

Junmyeon goes to the big Walmart supercenter before work, and he gets things for Sehun. More clothes, socks and underwear, a toothbrush, deodorant. The essentials, the necessities. He goes quickly. Doesn’t want to be late. He ties knots in his bags as he brings his purchases home, and Sehun looks delighted as he tries on the clothes. 

“You didn’t have to do this,” Sehun says. “I’ll be okay.” 

“I just want you to feel comfortable,” Junmyeon says. “So if you need anything, I can… I’ll get it for you.” 

Sehun smiles, putting his hands through the pouch of his hoodie. “Okay. Thanks.” He waves as Junmyeon goes back towards the door. “Have a good day at work.” 

Junmyeon leaves, and he spends his whole day thinking about Sehun, what he might be doing, if maybe he’ll pose again that evening when Junmyeon gets home. 

It is a strange feeling… looking forward to something again.  
  


☴

Junmyeon gets home, and Sehun is there waiting for him, wearing one of his new shirts, hair all pushed back handsomely.

“Hi,” he says, smiling like he’s happy to see Junmyeon. “How was your day?” 

“It was… okay,” Junmyeon says, and he is so unused to conversation that he has to remember to ask about Sehun too. “D-Did you have a good day?” 

Sehun shrugs. “Not bad.” 

Junmyeon nods, kicks off his shoes as he puts his bag down. “You want, um, some food?” 

“Sure,” Sehun says. “What are you gonna have?” 

“R—” 

“Ramen again?” 

Junmyeon groans. “Don’t judge me, okay?” 

“God, eat a salad every once in a while,” Sehun scolds. Junmyeon watches as Sehun goes to the cabinet, and he grabs a glass. “Want a glass of wine?” 

“Wh—sure, I guess,” Junmyeon says. 

Sehun goes to the Franzia, gets Junmyeon a glass of wine. He passes it over to him, and for a moment, it feels like they’re… like they’re _married_. Junmyeon is confused, overwhelmed by the thought. He has no idea where it came from. 

“Thank you,” Junmyeon says softly, and he lifts the glass to his mouth, stares in wonder as Sehun begins to putter around the kitchen. “What are you doing?” 

“Making you something to eat,” Sehun says. 

“I’m—” 

“No, no,” Sehun says. “Don’t try and stop me.” 

“O-Okay,” Junmyeon says. “If you’re sure.” 

Sehun grabs a couple cupfuls of rice, and he begins to wash it, looking over his shoulder at Junmyeon, just as beautiful as the painting. “I’m sure.” 

Junmyeon watches him move as he starts the rice, grabbing eggs, a pepper, and an onion from the fridge. He grabs the cutting board, a knife, and he starts slicing through the vegetables. Junmyeon sits there, sips his drink, wonders if Sehun is feeling the same way about Junmyeon that Junmyeon is starting to feel about him. 

“When did you learn to cook?” Junmyeon asks. 

“I don’t really know how,” Sehun shrugs, and he throws the vegetables into the hot pan. They sizzle and hissing. “I don’t know, though, it’s just something about you…” 

“What?” 

“You come home and you look like life has run you ragged,” Sehun says, and he frowns. “I just want to take care of you.” 

Junmyeon’s heart pulls in his chest as Sehun works, a stupidly simple meal that fills his apartment with the scent of home. It shouldn’t affect him so much, but it does. When the rice is done, Sehun fluffs it and lets it rest before he cracks two eggs into a frying pan. He cracks salt and pepper over them as they fry, and when everything is finished, he dishes out the rice, the caramelized onions and peppers, and he lays a fried egg over each bowl. He presents Junmyeon his bowl, sits down with his own, and he watches as Junmyeon breaks the yolk, stirs everything together.

“What do you think?” Sehun asks, and Junmyeon takes his first bite. “Good?” 

“Y-You’re, uh, you’ve got a natural talent,” Junmyeon says. “This is the best thing I’ve had in forever.” 

“Really?” Sehun asks, his eyes alight before his expression shifts to suspicion. “Do you really think so, or are you just trying to protect my fragile feelings?” 

“You’ve really never cooked before?” 

“Outside of, like, scrambled eggs,” Sehun says, “no.” 

“Then I stand by my assessment,” Junmyeon says. 

Sehun smiles at him, and it’s like standing in the sun. Warm. Delicious. 

“Eat,” Sehun says, and he digs into his own bowl.

Dinner passes with quiet, and Junmyeon keeps chewing, thinking maybe he should ask Sehun a question, see what he did throughout the day. Did he snoop around? Is he as interested in Junmyeon as Junmyeon is becoming in him? They’ve only really known each other for a couple days, and most of that was hostile on Junmyeon’s part. Sehun… he still feels so otherworldly. So insane. Like Junmyeon dreamt him, and then somehow, he became real. 

Before too long, Junmyeon has cleaned his bowl, and Sehun sits back, looking supremely proud of himself. Junmyeon looks down at his hands, feels his eyes welling with tears that he has to blink away. 

“What?” 

“I dunno,” Junmyeon says, and he twists his fingers together. “I just… I think I’m really gonna be crushed.” 

“When?” Sehun laughs. 

“When you either disappear because I’ve come to my senses, or you disappear because I finish your portrait,” Junmyeon says. 

“You’re always looking at the negatives,” Sehun says, and Junmyeon isn’t brave enough to look at him, stays staring at his fingernails, the stains of pink and red. “Let’s just enjoy the time we have together.” 

It puts a lump in Junmyeon’s throat, the way he’s come around to this… maybe he needed Sehun. God, he didn’t realize he was _this_ lonely, not until his world was filled with Sehun’s light. 

“Then I should say thank you,” Junmyeon says, and he bites his lip, finally looking up at Sehun. “That’s, uh, that’s the first time anyone’s ever cooked for me.” 

“You’re lying.” Junmyeon shakes his head. “You have to be kidding.” 

“I’m not.” 

Sehun studies him for a moment, and then, the corners of his mouth upturn. 

“Well, I’m… I’m glad I was the first then,” Sehun smiles, and Junmyeon finds himself returning the smile, a little volley between them. 

“What, um, what do you want to do?” Junmyeon asks. “We could watch TV, or read, or…” 

“Should we work a little more on the portrait?” Sehun asks. 

“S-Sure,” Junmyeon says, and he looks at his hands before giving Sehun his best, bravest smile. “Go lie down.”  
  


☴

The days start to knit together in the best, worst way. Junmyeon wakes up, his body warm with Sehun. They are always tied and tangled, and Junmyeon always groans softly as he wakes, realizing that he will have to forgo the heat of Sehun’s body. Sehun is an especially heavy sleeper, because even when Junmyeon accidentally makes a lot of noise or works in sudden, jerky movements, Sehun stays fast asleep.

Junmyeon always gets into the shower, and by the time he emerges, Sehun is waking up. He’s taken to sleeping without a shirt even though it’s winter and _cold_ , and it absolutely kills Junmyeon. Sure, he sees it plenty with their nightly painting sessions, but in the context of sleep, in the context of Junmyeon’s sheets, he looks like pure sex. 

“Hey,” Sehun says, one eye closed as he smiles at Junmyeon. “Good morning.” 

“Morning,” Junmyeon says. 

“It’s crazy,” Sehun says. “I’ve already been here a week.” 

“Yeah,” Junmyeon says, and he hangs up his towel, brushing through his hair. “Crazy.” 

“Coffee?” Sehun sits up, pouts his lips. Junmyeon is weak for that, for much less too. 

“I’ll get you a cup.” 

Sehun happily flops back into Junmyeon’s bed, and Junmyeon breathes out unsteadily as he walks out into the kitchen, busying himself with the coffee maker. 

Sehun pads out a moment later, and Junmyeon turns to see him stretch, the lovely muscles of his abdomen, his chest, his arms and shoulders tensing and tightening. Junmyeon swallows, watching Sehun’s eyes squeeze shut. 

“How did you sleep?” Sehun asks. 

“Good,” Junmyeon says. “Really good.” He passes Sehun a cup of coffee when it’s ready, holding his own between his hands. “H-How, uh, how about you?” 

“Good,” Sehun smiles, and he blows out over his coffee, the steam dissipating and then reforming. “Really good.” 

“Good.” 

“Yeah,” Sehun says. “Good.” 

Junmyeon gets the breakfast biscuits as Sehun grabs the yogurts from the fridge, and together, they sit down with their coffee, digging into breakfast. Already, it feels familiar, and Junmyeon tries to remind himself that this will be gone in the matter of days. Sehun’s portrait is nearly complete, just a few finishing touches that need to be added. He sadly pokes at his yogurt with his spoon, trying not to look too dejected. 

“How much am I allowed to comment on your life?” Sehun asks, and it jars Junmyeon from thought. 

“What?” 

“Like, how much am I allowed to know about you?” Sehun asks. “Because I know some things you don’t think I know. And I just wanted to make sure I was allowed to baselessly judge you.” 

Junmyeon snorts, goes back to poking at his yogurt. “Judge away.” 

“I noticed you have sleeping pills in your medicine cabinet,” Sehun says. “Do you normally have trouble sleeping?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Ah.” 

Junmyeon feels the need to clarify, and even though he _knows_ how it will sound, the words come out anyway. 

“Lately, though,” he says, and he stares down at the little flecks of peach, mixes them around, “lately, I haven’t needed them.” 

“Huh.” Junmyeon looks up, just a split-second glance, and he sees Sehun smiling at him. He looks away. “That’s very interesting.” 

“Don’t go snooping,” Junmyeon says. 

“Okay,” Sehun says. “I won’t anymore.” 

Junmyeon looks up, and Sehun is eating his yogurt with a wry grin on his face. Junmyeon’s stomach clenches, and he ignores that entirely, focuses on his breakfast.  
  


☴

Junmyeon comes home that evening, and they eat like normal. Even _that_ is strange, that he’s developing a _normal_ with Sehun. He tries to remind himself that this is almost certainly just a delusion, but it gets harder to keep in mind. Sehun is just so fucking real, so lovely.

Sehun lies down for their nightly session, and Junmyeon stares back at a portrait that is almost one hundred percent complete. _But paintings aren’t finished until you’re finished with them_ , he tells himself, shading the background with a little more realism. 

“I haven’t painted like this since I was in school,” Junmyeon says, and immediately, he realizes it was a silly comment to make, an invitation. 

“You went to school?” Sehun asks. “What did you study?” 

Junmyeon bites his lip, switching brushes as he dots more rose over the plush of Sehun’s lips. “Art.” 

“Oh,” Sehun says, and he sounds so happy about it, like it’s something to be proud of. Maybe it would be if Junmyeon finished. “That’s so cool.” 

“It’s not really that cool,” Junmyeon says, and his voice sounds comically flat, even to his own ears. “I dropped out.” 

“Why?” 

“Felt like a waste,” Junmyeon says. 

“Waste of…?” 

“Time,” Junmyeon says. “Money.” 

“But you enjoyed it?” Sehun asks. 

“I mean, that’s not the point,” Junmyeon says, and he drags his brush through the light pink on his palette before adding the highlight to Sehun’s lips. 

“What is the point, then?” Sehun wonders. 

“Make art my job,” Junmyeon says. “And that hasn’t happened, and it probably never will.” 

“How do you know?” 

“I don’t know,” Junmyeon says. “I just do.” 

Sehun goes quiet, and Junmyeon doesn’t look at him, doesn’t want to see Sehun undressing him, peeling back his layers. 

“You’re good,” Sehun says softly, and it makes Junmyeon pause, brush stilling over the curve of Sehun’s mouth. 

“You have to say that,” Junmyeon says. 

“I don’t.” 

“Yes, you do,” Junmyeon says. “People don’t like being impolite.” 

“I don’t care about that.” 

“Yes, you do.” 

“You’ve got a lot of paintings in your room,” Sehun says. “In the back closet.” 

Junmyeon’s heart stops in his chest, and the lightning of the moment, the realization… it jolts him back to life. 

He looks at Sehun, the _real_ Sehun, staring at him. “You looked in my closet?” 

Sehun shrugs a little. “I was bored.” 

“I told you to stop snooping,” Junmyeon says. 

“Yeah, this morning,” Sehun smiles. “I snooped days ago.” 

“That’s an invasion of privacy,” Junmyeon says, and he tries to put on his best disappointed parent voice, but he doesn’t think he fakes it well. 

“But now I know that you’re full of shit,” Sehun smiles. “And you have no real gauge of your own talent or ability.” 

“I’ve always been very good at looking critically at my own work.” Junmyeon sweeps his brush over Sehun’s mouth again. He ruined what he had, so now he has to fix it. He makes a noise of frustration as he works. “That’s probably my only strong suit.” 

“Being hypercritical of yourself isn’t a good thing.” 

“It’s not _hypercritical_ ,” Junmyeon says. “It’s just _critical._ ” 

“You are hypercritical,” Sehun says. “You’re probably the best artist I’ve ever seen.” 

“That’s because you haven’t seen many,” Junmyeon says, and it makes Sehun laugh. “What?” 

“You’re incapable of taking a compliment.” 

“Yeah,” Junmyeon says. 

“That’s a flaw of yours.” 

“I’ve got thousands,” Junmyeon says. 

“See?” Sehun says, and he points his finger towards Junmyeon. “That negative energy.” He waves his finger in a circle around the room. “It pervades this space.” 

“This is the only way I know how to be.” 

“Never too late to learn something new,” Sehun says. 

“Stop talking,” Junmyeon says, “I’m painting your mouth.” 

Sehun sticks his tongue out at Junmyeon, and Junmyeon rolls his eyes before he goes back to work. It is silent for quite a long time, and Junmyeon takes that silence gratefully. 

“All those portraits… who’s the guy?” Sehun asks. “He’s in every picture.” 

Junmyeon swallows thickly as pain branches through his throat. “My ex.” 

“You really liked him, huh?” 

Junmyeon sucks in a deep breath. 

“Yeah,” Junmyeon says. “I did.” 

“What happened?” 

“I don’t really wanna talk about this,” Junmyeon says. “I just wanna paint.” 

“Okay,” Sehun says. “Just paint.” 

Junmyeon bites his lip, finds it easier than ever.  
  


☴

Junmyeon works each night, and he feels no closer to finishing the portrait. They usually sit for a couple hours, and Junmyeon is constantly touching, retouching lines that have already dried. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, why he needs to go back over things long done. What is it, he wonders… is it because he’s scared to send Sehun away? Or is it because he’s scared that he’s always been right about himself, that he is as untalented as he tells himself he is?

Or is it worse? Some combination of both.

Junmyeon sits down, and he waits for Sehun to get into his pose, eyes low as he stares back at Junmyeon. 

“Ready?” Sehun asks. 

“When you are,” Junmyeon says. 

“I’m good.” 

Junmyeon gets to work on Sehun’s abdomen, cleaning up the lines of his muscles. 

“This is taking longer than I thought it would,” Sehun says. “How long does a portrait normally take?” 

“Depends,” Junmyeon says.

“How long did it take you to paint me the first time around?” 

“Oh, that’s different,” Junmyeon says. 

“Why?” 

“I was inspired,” Junmyeon says. “I finished you in a couple hours.” 

“Not feeling inspired anymore?” Sehun asks. 

“I just… well, let’s put it this way,” Junmyeon says. “If I didn’t think that this was a necessary measure in order to get you back to where you belong, I don’t think I’d be painting right now.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because I’m not… I don’t know, it sounds fucking stupid.” 

“Just say it.” 

Junmyeon huffs. “I’m just not… _inspired_ or whatever.” 

“You always wait until you’re inspired?” Sehun asks. “Isn’t that… kind of ineffective?” 

“I do my best stuff when I’m inspired,” Junmyeon says. 

“What happens if you never get inspiration?” 

“Then I don’t paint.” 

“B-But you love painting,” Sehun says, and he just sounds so fucking confused. Junmyeon wishes he could alleviate that. “It’s the thing that makes you happy.”

“Sometimes, people just can’t be happy.” 

“Do you believe that?” 

“What?” Sehun is quiet, quiet until Junmyeon peers around his easel to stare at him, repeating himself. “What?” 

“That you can’t be happy.” 

“I didn’t say that.” 

“I think that’s what you meant, though,” Sehun says. “Didn’t you?” 

“No, shut up,” Junmyeon says. “You’re not my therapist, you’re just some guy I painted.” He shakes his head, sets his palette and his brush down so that he can hold his head in his hands. “God, I’m fucking insane.” 

“And I’m not real,” Sehun says drily. 

“You _aren’t_ ,” Junmyeon says. “This is fucking crazy.” 

“If you don’t wanna finish the painting, then don’t finish it,” Sehun says. 

“We have to send you home,” Junmyeon says. 

“Whatever.” 

“What?” 

“Nothing,” Sehun says.

“No, what?” 

“It’s nothing,” Sehun says, angry, and that makes Junmyeon scared. 

“What?” Junmyeon whines. 

Suddenly, Sehun gets up from where he’s laying. “Let me see it.” 

“No, it’s not done,” Junmyeon says, and he hurriedly stands from his stool, using his body to block the easel and the canvas as Sehun stands there across the room. 

“I haven’t gotten _one_ look at it.” 

“Because you’ll see it when it’s done,” Junmyeon says. “Go sit down. I-I’ll finish it right now.” 

“No,” Sehun says, and he walks over, starts trying to peer around the easel. “Let me see it.” 

“No!” 

“Why _not_?” 

“Because it’s _garbage_ ,” Junmyeon says. “I can’t show you.” 

“You can,” Sehun says. “It’s not as bad as you think it is, I fucking promise.” 

“It’s not ready,” Junmyeon says, and his chest starts rising and falling like fucking crazy, breath becoming harder and harder to find. “I-It’s n-not, I can’t, I just can’t s-show yo—I can’t, okay? I fucking can’t! I can’t!” 

Furious, crazy tears jump into Junmyeon’s eyes, and Sehun looks panicked, looks like he’s just seen a totally new person. 

_This is when he would leave_ , Junmyeon thinks. _If he could leave, he would._

Sehun takes Junmyeon’s hands in his, and Junmyeon stares down at them entwined, sees Sehun’s hands unmoving, his own trembling with nervous energy. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Sehun says. “Hey, shh, hey, it’s okay. I won’t look. I’m sorry, I—” 

Tears spill down his face, and he jumps into Sehun’s arms. Sehun steps back, wrapping his arms around Junmyeon’s body. Junmyeon buries his face into Sehun’s chest, the tears dripping down Sehun’s skin. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s… what’s happening, I’m just…” 

“It’s okay,” Sehun says, and his hands hold Junmyeon by the shoulder blades, and he rubs into him, slow, calming circles. “I didn’t mean to…” 

“No,” Junmyeon says, hiccuping, “it’s not you, I just—” 

“You don’t have to explain,” Sehun says. “I… I don’t care how long it takes. I don’t. I just… I think you’re cool. A lot cooler than you give yourself credit for.” 

Junmyeon squeezes his eyes shut, but the tears fall out all the same. “I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t have to apologize to me,” Sehun whispers, and he leans his head against Junmyeon’s. “I think you should apologize to yourself.” 

It is corny, sounds so stupid, but it guts Junmyeon, carves him out. He cries in Sehun’s arms for longer than he would care to admit, and by the end, he feels completely empty, wiped out. He sniffs, shuts his eyes as the ends tie themselves together, as he inhales, exhales. It’s less terrifying now. He feels less scared now. 

“A shower might help you feel better,” Sehun says. “Warm water.” 

“I get showers in the mornings,” Junmyeon says. “It helps me wake up.” 

“Whatever you want,” Sehun says, but for some silly reason, Junmyeon feels like he should follow where he leads, do as he says. 

“M-Maybe,” Junmyeon says. “Maybe a shower would be good. I should clean my brushes, though.” 

“I’ll do it,” Sehun says, and he pulls back from the embrace, stares into Junmyeon’s eyes. It is a moment thick with tension, at least for Junmyeon. “Go on.” 

“Don’t look,” Junmyeon says. “Promise you won’t look until I’m ready.” 

Sehun smiles down at him, and then, he is hugging Junmyeon close. “I promise.” 

Junmyeon pulls back with a deep breath, gives Sehun his brushes. 

He walks into the bathroom, strips himself down, and puts himself under the hot water. He lets it wash over him in waves, and he lets his breathing slow. He’s panicked like that before, but it’s never… never been so easy to calm down after. After the breakup, it happened. After the breakup, he lost a lot of himself. Did he ever really find it again? 

Junmyeon ruffles his wet hair, and he steps out into the bedroom, finding Sehun sitting on the bed, leaning against the headboard. 

“I made you some tea,” Sehun says, and he points to the bedside table. “You had sleepytime in your pantry. I figured that would be good.” 

“T-Thank you,” Junmyeon says. “You didn’t have to do that.” 

“I just wanted to.” 

Junmyeon sits cross-legged on the bed, the mug of tea in his hands. He breathes in the steam, and it smells richly of chamomile, spearmint, and honey. 

“I wanted to… apologize again,” Sehun says. “If I… if I caused that.” 

“No,” Junmyeon says. “It wasn’t you. It was me.” 

“It could have been me,” Sehun says. “I mean… if I’m doing something that hurts you, I don’t wanna, you know? That’s never my intention.” 

“I know.” 

“I know you don’t… I mean, I know we don’t know each other that well or anything, but I feel like we could be friends,” Sehun says. “I don’t want you to hate me.” 

Junmyeon looks over, and he sees the way Sehun looks. Nervous. 

“I don’t hate you,” Junmyeon says. “I like you.” 

Sehun looks back to him, and his eyes are so heavy. “Really?” 

“Yeah,” Junmyeon says. “Of course.” 

“Even though… even with all that?” 

Junmyeon rolls his eyes. “It happens.” 

“Really?” 

“Sometimes,” Junmyeon says, shrugging his shoulder. “Less… recently.” 

“That’s good,” Sehun says. “I just… I just don’t want…” 

“What?” 

“I don’t want to make you feel like you’re being watched,” Sehun says. “O-Or like I’m invading you space, or… or like you have nowhere to go.” 

“It’s not like that,” Junmyeon says. “I don’t feel that way at all.” 

Sehun sinks back in the bed. “Okay, good.” 

“It’s really… me freaking out has _nothing_ to do with you,” Junmyeon says. “Honestly, like, I just… you’re more a by-product of my insanity, not a cause.” 

Sehun smiles. “Shut up.” 

“I’m serious!” Junmyeon smiles. “I just…” 

“I don’t think you’re as crazy as you think you are,” Sehun says. “Seriously.” 

“Stop.” 

“I’m being serious,” Sehun says. “I think you’re pretty normal. And it’s okay to be… I dunno, confused about your feelings or whatever. You aren’t harming anyone.” 

Junmyeon looks into his reflection in the tea. “I used to feel bad.” 

“About what?” 

“Telling people,” Junmyeon says. “I would bottle things up. Let them come out at the worst moments.” 

“It’s healthy,” Sehun says. “Having a way to let things out.” 

“That’s, uh, I think I use painting for that,” Junmyeon says. “Or at least, I did once.” 

“Why’d you stop?” 

“I dunno,” Junmyeon smiles, and he looks over at Sehun. “I really don’t.” 

“Burnout?” Sehun asks. 

“I guess. Maybe,” Junmyeon says, and he frowns. “I never felt burned out because of painting. I think… everything else burned me out, and then I had no energy to do what I wanted to do. And then—ah, God, this sounds so fucking stupid saying it out loud.” 

“I don’t think it sounds stupid,” Sehun says. “I think it’s interesting.” 

Junmyeon looks at him. “Really?” 

“I’ve never talked to an artist before,” Sehun shrugs. “And I’ve never really had any… you know, _creative_ endeavours. Like all my hobbies are more… passive, I guess. But you—,” and he points to Junmyeon, “you’re active.” 

“I’m not active,” Junmyeon says. 

“Painting is active,” Sehun says. “I mean, you made me.” 

“You don’t know that for sure.” 

Sehun smiles at him. “No, I guess not. But… you know, it’s just my instinct. I feel like you… I feel like we were supposed to be here together. Like fate brought us together.” 

Even by the time Junmyeon falls asleep, he cannot stop the flutter in his chest, the beating of butterfly wings.  
  


☴

Junmyeon has a hard time with painting now, but Sehun does make things easier. He doesn’t know why, he just feels a little more comfortable with someone to talk to about things. He doesn’t want to treat Sehun like a therapist, but whenever he’s painting, they talk and the conversations usually tend towards the deep end.

“I can’t help it,” Sehun says with a shrug. “I find it difficult to make small talk.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah, don’t you?” Sehun asks, and he shivers as though the thought is terrifying. “Like, I don’t want to talk about the weather, you know?” 

“You wanna talk about our _dreams_?” Junmyeon teases. 

“Well, yeah,” Sehun says. “Is that so stupid?” 

“No.” 

“Then tell me about your dreams.” 

“I don’t have any dreams,” Junmyeon says. 

“Should I tell you about mine?” Sehun asks. “Would that make you feel more comfortable?” 

“Sure,” Junmyeon says, and he lays more streaks of scarlet through Sehun’s hair, the lamp making everything tend towards chiaroscuro, strong, rich contrasts. “What are your dreams?” 

“I’ve never had _big_ dreams,” Sehun says, “not like most people.” 

“You never wanted to be an astronaut?” Junmyeon asks. 

“No, when I was young, I knew I wanted to be married,” Sehun says. “I wanted to find my soulmate.” 

Junmyeon’s mouth goes dry, and he dips his brush back into the deep red. “Yeah?” 

“Is that silly?” 

“No,” Junmyeon says. “It’s not.” 

“I just thought… man, that would be nice, you know? Someone who always understands you. Someone who always gives you the kindness that they’d give themselves. You know? Like, I think we tend towards self-preservation, I think that’s human instinct, but I think love… I think true love changes that.” 

Junmyeon peeks around the canvas, looks at Sehun looking back at him. “What do you mean?” 

“You ever heard about, like, when a baby is in trouble and the mom goes Super Saiyan?” 

“I don’t think that’s what they call it,” Junmyeon snorts, “but yeah, I know what you mean.” 

“So, I think… when we love people, our instinct changes,” Sehun says. “I think love becomes our top priority. I think we want to protect people. I think we want to give them everything. I think we dedicate ourselves to something greater.” 

“And love is that greater something,” Junmyeon says. 

“Yeah, love.” 

“That’s nice,” Junmyeon says, and his throat hurts, tight with emotion. “I think that’s… you know, I think that’s nice.” 

“Have you ever felt like that?” Sehun asks. 

“Like what?” 

“Like you were putting someone else ahead of yourself? Not because… not because you felt obligated to, but because you loved them so much?” 

“No,” Junmyeon says. 

“Is that why you broke up with your ex? The guy in the pictures?” 

“How did this happen?” Junmyeon asks. “How did we start talking about you and end up talking about me?” 

“I can’t help it,” Sehun says. “I’m interested in you.” 

“Well, I don’t want to talk about him.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because it’s annoying,” Junmyeon says. “And I don’t wanna bring the mood down.” 

“Then tell me about your dream.” 

“My dream was to paint,” Junmyeon says. He sticks his head out from behind his canvas. “Look. I’m painting. Dream accomplished.”

“You’re funny,” Sehun says. 

Junmyeon rolls his eyes, hides back behind his painting. “I don’t know.” He dabs into the peach, streaks it across Sehun’s cheek. “I just always had in my head that if I was able to make art my life, if I could become an artist as a _job_ , then it would… I dunno, it’s ridiculous, but I thought that it would somehow validate me.” 

“Why?” 

“Only the best people are able to do that,” Junmyeon says, and he stills his hand. “I wanted to be the best.” 

“Ah. So that’s where you got it all fucked up.” 

“It’s not fucked up,” Junmyeon says. “That’s just how it is.” 

“It’s not a measure of merit,” Sehun says. “Life isn’t a meritocracy.” 

“Maybe not,” Junmyeon says. 

“It _isn’t_ ,” Sehun says. “And thinking that it is… that’s what’s hurting you. That’s what’s always gonna hurt you. Sometimes it doesn’t matter how good you are. Sometimes it’s just… sometimes things just don’t work out. Sometimes you need luck on your side, and you don’t have any.” 

“I’m lucky. I’m really privileged.” 

“You’re good enough to do this for a living,” Sehun says. “You can’t fool me.” Junmyeon snorts. “You can’t.” 

“Okay,” Junmyeon says, coming to terms with the fact that he will never win this argument, that they’ll never change each other’s minds. Debates like this have a tendency of burying people in their previously held opinions, and they are ultimately a waste of everyone’s time. 

“Okay,” Sehun says. “What do you think? A few more sessions?” 

“Yeah,” Junmyeon says. “Just a few.” 

“I’ll miss this,” Sehun says, and Junmyeon looks around the easel just in time to see him stretch, body arching as he huffs. “It’s relaxing.” 

Sometimes, Junmyeon feels similarly. Other times, when Sehun exudes sex effortlessly, oil dancing across water, Junmyeon finds himself tense. He finds his stomach turning with arousal, with desire. He finds himself feeling the exact _opposite_ of relaxed. 

“Yeah,” Junmyeon says, and he wipes off his brush on his cloth. “Okay. We can turn in for the night.” 

“‘Kay.” 

Junmyeon gathers all his brushes, puts them in his little cup, and he stands, watching as Sehun stretches yet again, arms up over his head. His obliques are gorgeous, sculpted like they demand to be touched. Junmyeon lets his eyes glaze over Sehun’s body, long blinks when Sehun finally ends his stretch. 

“Will you miss me when I’m gone?” Sehun wonders. 

“Yeah,” Junmyeon says, strangely honest. “I will.” 

“I’ll miss you too,” Sehun says, and he sticks out his hand. “Come on. Let’s go to bed.” 

“I have to wash my brushes,” Junmyeon says, but even as he says it, he takes Sehun’s hand in his. 

“Get them in the morning,” Sehun says. “It’ll be okay.” 

And for the first time, Junmyeon thinks that maybe Sehun is right. Maybe it will be okay.  
  


☴

Junmyeon wakes in the morning as he normally does, Sehun against his back. It is getting more and more difficult to pretend like he doesn’t have stupid sexual feelings for Sehun, especially when he wakes up dreading the moment he has to pull himself away from Sehun’s touch. He closes his eyes, wiggles back into the warmth a little more, and he gives himself another moment.

Sehun sighs out, and Junmyeon smiles to himself, losing himself in a fantasy that this is real, that this is something more than it is. 

“Good morning,” Sehun whispers. Junmyeon opens his eyes, shocked as he stares at the wall across from him. “Did you sleep well?” 

Junmyeon leaps out of bed, staring back at him with wide eyes. 

“W-What are you doing?” 

“Asking you a question?” 

“You’re supposed to be asleep,” Junmyeon says. “W—How long have you been awake?” 

“Ten minutes or so,” Sehun says, and he leans up on his elbow. “How long have you been awake?” 

“S—You’re a heavy sleeper,” Junmyeon says. 

“No,” Sehun smiles. “I’m not.” 

“You knew we were—” 

“Cuddling?” Sehun asks. “Spooning? Yes.” 

“W-Why did you say anything?” 

“Because I wanted to cuddle with you,” Sehun says. Junmyeon sputters. “What? You were always sneaking out. I figured you didn’t mind, otherwise you’d say something.” He smiles at Junmyeon. “Thought you’d make me sleep on the couch if you really hated it.” 

“Shut up,” Junmyeon says. “You’re so—” 

“Cute?” 

“No,” Junmyeon says. “You’re bad.” 

“You wanna stop cuddling with me?” Sehun asks, and then suddenly, he pulls the covers back open. “Or do you wanna do it more?” He grins at Junmyeon. “Isn’t it so much better, now that we’re both on the same page?” 

“I’m getting a shower,” Junmyeon says. “I’m getting a shower, and by the time I’m out, there better be coffee waiting for me.” 

“I’m going, I’m going,” Sehun says. “You feel so good in my arms. Ah.” 

Junmyeon turns, his stomach flipping, and he shuts the bathroom door behind him, squeezing his eyes shut tight. He can’t ignore it anymore. He can’t pretend like he doesn’t fucking love it. Sehun knows, and _Junmyeon knows_. They both know, and it’s out in the open. Shouldn’t it be freeing? 

Junmyeon gets in the shower, dutifully ignoring the way his cock begins to harden when he thinks about their bodies pressed together under the warm spray. He thunks his head against the tile, tries to get his head on straight for a change.  
  


☴

They go to bed that night, and Junmyeon stands there, staring at Sehun.

“No funny business,” Junmyeon says. “We’re going to sleep.” 

“Yeah,” Sehun agrees, and he tucks himself under the covers. “We’re going to bed, and spooning will lull us to sleep.” 

Junmyeon buries his face in his hands. “I swear, I—”

“What? Too embarrassing?” 

“No,” Junmyeon says, but he holds his face, feels the heat surge up to the tops of his cheeks. “No, I’m just… we’re not doing it anymore, okay? It was just a lizard brain thing. And now that we’ve acknowledged it, we can stop.” 

“Oh, come on. It’s not because of lizard brains. It’s just because we want to be close to each other. Let’s not act like we’re not _immediately_ going to cuddle,” Sehun says. “Let’s just… let’s skip to the good part.” 

“No,” Junmyeon says, and he gets into the bed, keeping a healthy distance between them. “Stay away from me.” 

“Oh my God, really?” 

“I… a foot between us, I’m telling you,” Junmyeon says. 

“Okay, okay,” Sehun says. He points towards Junmyeon’s lamp. “Shut it off.” 

Junmyeon sits up, and he shuts off the light. He half expects Sehun to gather him up into his arms as soon as they’re plunged into darkness, but instead, Sehun turns over, the covers pulled up over his shoulder. Junmyeon doesn’t know why his heart sinks, almost like he wanted… wanted Sehun to push past his line. 

“Night,” Sehun says softly. 

“Yeah,” Junmyeon says, and he turns over, faces the wall, his back to Sehun. “Night.”  
  


☴

_2:33_. The light of his phone is blinding, and he quickly shuts it back to black.

Junmyeon rolls over in the middle of the night, and he stares at Sehun. His back is still to Junmyeon, but now, the covers have slipped down, baring his skin. He wants to reach out, pet along the lines of his back, the lines shadowed with muscle. 

He’s cold. He’s really cold. 

He should close his eyes again, go back to bed. 

He shouldn’t reach out, shouldn’t want to touch. 

“Sehun,” Junmyeon whispers, and his fingers brush along Sehun’s shoulder. 

He listens for even the softest of sounds, tells himself that he’ll go back to sleep when Sehun doesn’t wake, but a moment later, Sehun inhales sharply, making sleepy sounds that tug on Junmyeon’s heartstrings. 

“Yeah?” 

“Can you turn over?” Junmyeon whispers. 

Sehun rolls over in bed to face Junmyeon, and his hair is ruffled with sleep, his face soft and gentle. 

“You okay?” Sehun asks, an eye squinted shut. He’s still handsome, still lovely, and Junmyeon still feels scared to ask for what he wants. 

“Can you… can you hold me?” he asks.

Sehun’s smile is bright like summer. “Yeah. Turn over.” 

Junmyeon feels stripped down to nothing as he turns, gives Sehun his back. He holds himself excruciatingly still as Sehun closes the gap between them, his body cradled around Junmyeon’s. He threads an arm under Junmyeon’s neck, the other thrown around Junmyeon’s waist. 

“Better?” Sehun asks, and his voice is thick, deep with sleep, and it sends a shiver down Junmyeon’s spine. 

“Yeah,” Junmyeon says, and he shuts his eyes. “Sorry.” 

“It’s not bad to want something like this,” Sehun says, and his lips are so close to Junmyeon’s ear. It makes Junmyeon think about Sehun kissing him, kissing over his neck, down his throat. Down his chest. “It’s okay.” 

“It’s weird,” Junmyeon says. 

“You’re being weird,” Sehun says. “It isn’t a big deal.” 

But it feels like such a big deal, it feels _massive_ and _important_ and _special_ , and maybe that’s why Junmyeon didn’t want it to happen. Maybe that’s why he wanted to keep it a secret from Sehun. Maybe that’s why he didn’t want to let himself have it. 

He knew he would fall in love. He knew it wouldn’t take much. After all, Sehun was made for him. Made _by_ him.

“Sleep,” Sehun whispers. 

“Okay,” Junmyeon says, and when Sehun hugs him close, he feels sleep take him quickly, a spell of glittering Naples Rose, dizzying Cadmium Red.  
  


☴

When the morning comes for them, Junmyeon is surprised by just how well he rested. He blinks awake, shuts off his alarm, and absently cuddles back into Sehun’s arms.

“Mm, morning,” Sehun says, and he brushes the tip of his nose against the back of Junmyeon’s neck. 

Junmyeon squeezes his eyes shut, curls his toes. “Morning.” 

“Did you sleep well?” 

His voice is so much deeper when he’s just woken up. It sends a thrill down Junmyeon’s back, makes him wiggle in the embrace, and Sehun laughs softly. 

“Yeah,” Junmyeon remembers to answer. “D-Did you?” 

Sehun tightens his arms around Junmyeon’s waist, a little squeeze. “I did. Best night’s sleep since I got here.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah,” Sehun says. “Definitely.” 

Junmyeon falls silent, and he covers Sehun’s hand on his stomach with his own, pulling it higher on his body. 

“I should get up,” Junmyeon says. “I don’t wanna be late.” 

“Just another minute,” Sehun says. 

Junmyeon bites his lip, and he swallows a moan, the feeling of Sehun’s body curled up behind his own enough to send arousal spiraling hot and red through his chest. 

_This has to end_ , Junmyeon thinks. _I can’t let it go on much longer._  
  


☴

Junmyeon picks up dinner, splurges on sushi and sake. Sehun looks delighted as he transfers it from the little chilled boxes to a platter, snapping the chopsticks apart. He pours a small dish of soy sauce, moves the pickled ginger onto the platter.

“This is so sweet. Like, super romantic,” Sehun says, and he wiggles his butt back and forth cutely as Junmyeon grabs cups for their sake. “What’s the occasion?” 

“I dunno,” Junmyeon says. “We’ve been eating homemade a lot, so I just thought…” 

“Thought you would give me something nice?” Sehun asks. “Well, I accept. I love to be spoiled.” 

Junmyeon’s stomach turns, and he pours their cups full. “Shut up.” 

“Nope, I’m happy,” Sehun says. “Can’t kill my vibes.” Junmyeon bites across a smile, and they sit down opposite each other, raising a glass. “What should we toast to?” 

“Uh,” Junmyeon says, “I dunno.” 

“Not much of a poet,” Sehun frowns. 

“I paint.” 

“Can’t be good at _everything_ ,” Sehun smiles. “To interdimensional exploration.” 

“That doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue,” Junmyeon criticizes. 

“Can you think of something better, Mr. Physical Art Medium?” 

“T-To… To friendship,” Junmyeon says softly. 

“Oh, I like that much better,” Sehun says. “To friendship.” 

They clink their glasses together, a little cheers, and Junmyeon swallows the sake, lets it sit in his stomach like liquid fire. He stares at Sehun over their meal, eyes going to his mouth as if they’re magnetized. He looks away, tries to focus on how good the food tastes, but when Sehun is there, it seems like he’s the only thing Junmyeon can think about. 

“Last bit of toro,” Sehun says, and he pokes it forward towards Junmyeon. “Go on.” 

“It’s okay,” Junmyeon says. “I like it all.” 

“Yeah, but this is the best,” Sehun says, and he pokes it forward again. “Come on. Accept. _Accept_.” 

Junmyeon rolls his eyes as he grabs the nigiri, pops it into his mouth easily. Sehun smiles at him, and suddenly, the room is thick with a feeling that Junmyeon can’t quite put his finger on. 

“What?” Junmyeon asks, mouth full.

“You’re cute.” 

Junmyeon swallows thickly. “Shut up.” 

“Why?” Sehun asks, and he rests his chin on his fist. “Because you like the way I make you feel, but you can’t accept that because that would mean letting yourself have something nice?” 

“Okay,” Junmyeon says. “Are you finished with dinner?” 

“One more shot,” Sehun says. “It’s Thursday, after all.” 

“Thursday?” 

“Thirsty Thursday,” Sehun smiles. “And I’m thirsty.” 

Junmyeon stands up, grabs the bottle, and pours them both another shot. He looks into Sehun’s eyes as they tip the glasses back, the sake slipping down their throats. His eyes dip down to where Sehun’s throat rolls, and the movement is intense, stupidly intense and lovely. He looks away, sets his cup down. 

“Should we work on the portrait?” Sehun asks. 

“D-Do you want to?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Do you want to leave?” Junmyeon asks. 

“Don’t you want me to?” Sehun asks. 

“That’s not what I asked.” 

“I know,” Sehun smiles. “But I’m asking you.” 

“No,” Junmyeon says, “no, is that what you want to hear? _No_ , I don’t want you to go. No, I want… I want you to stay, but… but the longer you stay, the more attached to you I get, and when you finally disappear, I’m fucking _terrified_ because I think it’s gonna fucking kill me.” 

“Why?” 

“Why?” Junmyeon says, and the tears come easily, clouding his vision. “Because I don’t remember the last time I felt like this.” 

“How do you feel?” 

“Like I’m happy to be alive,” Junmyeon says. “Like I have a reason to get up.” 

Sehun smiles. “Let’s finish the picture.” 

Junmyeon’s heart falls into his stomach. “Okay.” 

“Don’t look so sad,” Sehun says. “It’s a good thing. I promise.” 

Junmyeon can’t think about Sehun leaving like a _good_ thing anymore, not when he’s become so used to his presence, so emboldened by it. He feels like a different person, a happier, better version of himself. He’s never questioned like this. He’s never thought about his own negative thoughts the way Sehun makes him think about them. 

Is love supposed to do that? 

He wonders. 

Junmyeon sits at his easel, and Sehun rests across his couch. It is the same position they’ve found themselves in for the past several weeks, but tonight, it feels much different. Junmyeon stares at the portrait that’s been pretty much complete for weeks, and he breathes in, breathes back out as he stares into the painted Sehun’s eyes. They don’t live with the same mischief, the same affection, but Junmyeon thinks it would be impossible to capture him, his _essence_ in oil. 

“Why do you think you feel so strongly about me leaving?” Sehun asks, and Junmyeon huffs. “What?” 

“You always ask questions like that.” 

“Like what?” Sehun asks. 

Junmyeon dips his detail brush into his maroon. “Questions that require me to be vulnerable.” 

“Isn’t that the best kind of conversation?” Junmyeon snorts, and he listens to Sehun laugh in response. “No?” 

“Generally, I try to save vulnerability for the shower,” Junmyeon answers. 

“Why’s that?” 

“Easier to hide the sound of crying,” Junmyeon laughs, and when he sticks his head out to see if Sehun is laughing, he is stone-faced. “Oh, stop.” 

“I don’t think it’s funny!” Sehun says, and he raises his brow. “Do you think it’s funny to be sad?” 

“I dunno,” Junmyeon says, and he goes back to his detail work in the shadow of Sehun’s cheeks. “Sometimes.” 

“Would it be funny if I left?” 

Junmyeon’s brush stills. “No. I don’t think so.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because I… well, this is stupid.” 

“I don’t think it’s stupid,” Sehun says. “I think it’s an important conversation to have.” 

“Why?” 

“It puts our relationship into context,” Sehun says. “It puts us on the same page.” 

“What page is there to _be_ on?” Junmyeon asks. “We’re… we’re in a weird situation. We’re in the middle of my delusion.” 

“Not that shit again,” Sehun scoffs. 

“What do you want me to say?” 

“Say what you feel,” Sehun urges. 

“I find you comforting.” 

“Is that it?” 

“You’re… interesting,” Junmyeon says. 

“You think so?” 

“And I like you being around,” Junmyeon says. 

“God, you’re like, _almost_ there,” Sehun teases. 

“If it’s so easy to say, then why don’t you say it?” Junmyeon says. 

“Fine, look at me,” Sehun says. Junmyeon hesitates before he sets his brush down, peeking around the easel. “I like you.” 

“Oh my God,” Junmyeon says, and he hides back behind the portrait before his face flares red. “Shut up.” 

“No, I do. I like you,” Sehun says. “I think I liked you from the moment you told me to get out.” 

“Shut _up_.” Sehun laughs, and Junmyeon bites his lip, digs his teeth in. “Do you really?” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” 

“I’m—” 

“No negatives,” Sehun reminds him. 

“I’m me,” Junmyeon says. 

Sehun huffs. “That _sounds_ like a negative when in reality it is a big positive.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize to me,” Sehun says. “I like you because you’re smart. Because you’re kind.” 

“I’m not that nice,” Junmyeon says. “Remember… remember the first thing I said to you?” 

“Something to the effect of _get the fuck out of my house_.” 

Junmyeon can hear the smile on Sehun’s mouth, and he tries to sneak a glance, but Sehun is staring straight back at him. 

“You’re nicer than you think you are,” Sehun says. “And you take care of people without even realizing that you’re doing it. Because that’s just who you are. You just have so much love in your heart, and you don’t even realize you’re giving it away.” 

“Stop,” Junmyeon says, fingers wrapped around the dry edges of the canvas as he locks eyes with Sehun. “You’re—”

“I’m just being honest about how I feel,” Sehun says. “Can you be honest?” 

Junmyeon bites his lip, looks down at the floor. “I’m finished.” 

“You’re done? Really?” 

“Done,” Junmyeon says, and he looks up at Sehun. “Um. Do you feel anything?” 

“No,” Sehun says. He tilts his head. “Maybe I have to look at it?” He smiles at Junmyeon. “Can I?” 

Junmyeon instinctively thinks _No_ , shame swirling within him, but he nods, steps back from the easel as Sehun walks towards him. He moves, moves to let Sehun peer back at the work, and he closes his eyes, more terrified than he’s ever been before. 

“You are amazing,” Sehun says, and Junmyeon frantically opens his eyes, thinks that maybe he will miss his chance to say goodbye, but Sehun is standing there as real as he always was, staring at the portrait. “This is incredible.” 

“Stop,” Junmyeon says. “I-It’s not that good.” 

“It’s… it’s gorgeous,” Sehun says. “It’s—Fuck.” He looks at Junmyeon, looks him up and down. “Is this why you didn’t want me to see it?” 

“W-Why?” 

“Because it’s so intimate,” Sehun says, and he takes a step forward. Junmyeon is suddenly very aware of Sehun’s upper body, naked. “It feels like you painted a lover.” 

“I… I—” 

Sehun waits for him to stutter out an excuse, but he doesn’t have any. He’s never been good at saying the way he feels, always paints it instead, and now… now Sehun has everything he needs to see. Has everything he needs to know. 

Sehun looks at the painting, flicking his eyes back to meet Junmyeon’s after a second. He smiles. 

“I don’t think it was a spell,” Sehun says.

“N-No,” Junmyeon says. “I don’t think it was either.” 

“What now?” Sehun whispers. “What happens now?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Can I kiss you?” Sehun asks. 

Junmyeon’s breath leaves him, his words leave him. He blinks slowly, the haze of affection hanging in the air like a thick fog. 

“W-What?” 

Sehun rolls his eyes as he steps forward a little closer, their bodies just an inch apart. 

“Can I kiss you?” he whispers, his mouth so close to Junmyeon’s that he can feel the question brushed across his mouth. 

“Yes,” Junmyeon sobs, and Sehun kisses him softly, arms gentle as they take him in an embrace. 

He lets go of so much in that moment, so much tension and angst and anxiety, and it drips down his back, makes him shiver against Sehun’s body as they kiss. Junmyeon wants to deepen it, wants to take Sehun to his bed. 

“You kiss me like you want to fuck me,” Sehun whispers, and it sends a rope of obscene arousal down Junmyeon’s spine, the sort he hasn’t felt in a while. 

“I’m… I’ve been—” 

“Pent up,” Sehun says, and he takes Junmyeon in another kiss, furious and indulgent. “Doesn’t it feel good to let it go?” 

Junmyeon sighs out, presses himself against Sehun’s body. “Yes. C-Can we—?” 

“Let’s go to bed,” Sehun says. “More comfortable to kiss you.” 

Junmyeon takes Sehun by the hand and moves him to the bedroom. Sehun lies down, and Junmyeon crawls up to him, taking a kiss from his lips. Sehun moans softly, settles back into bed, and Junmyeon gets comfortable, his weight on Sehun. 

“Is this okay?” Junmyeon asks. 

“You don’t know how long I’ve thought about kissing you,” Sehun says, and the words are gentle and red. “Since the very beginning. Since I first saw you.” 

“Kiss me,” Junmyeon says, and he is rewarded immediately, Sehun’s tongue licking against the seam of his lips softly. 

He works his body down against Sehun’s, straddles him and grinds against Sehun. He takes Sehun’s face in his hands, kisses him hard, and he tries to put everything in it, everything and more. 

“J-Junmyeon,” Sehun groans. 

“I want you,” Junmyeon says, and he pushes himself down, gasps into Sehun’s mouth. “Give it to me.” 

They kiss for another frantic, frenetic moment, and Junmyeon can almost _taste_ the sex, but then, Sehun turns, pressing a chaste kiss to Junmyeon’s cheek. 

“Not tonight,” Sehun whispers. “It was a big day for you.” 

“I can handle it,” Junmyeon says. 

“What about me?” Sehun teases. 

“You don’t want to… go further?” 

“I do,” Sehun says. “But I’m… I’m serious about you.” 

“What do you mean?” Junmyeon asks. “I…” 

“We were nothing, and then everything all at once,” Sehun says. “Are you okay with that?” 

“I don’t wanna think about it.” 

“Why not?” 

“I’m… I don’t know,” Junmyeon says, and he flops off Sehun to the side, a hand on his forehead. “W-Why are we having this conversation now?” 

“I think it’s good to talk about these things,” Sehun says. “Expectations that we have for each other.” 

“We’re not _dating_.” 

Sehun stares at him, knocks his hand against Junmyeon’s. “Yeah, but I wanna be.” 

“You wanna _date_ me?” 

“Is that silly?” Sehun asks. 

“I dunno. Kind of.” 

“Why?” 

“We’re… we’re not supposed to have met,” Junmyeon says. 

“But we have.” 

“So… so what do you want out of this, then?” Junmyeon asks. “What’s your plan?” 

“I just think we should take things slowly,” Sehun shrugs. “Is that bad?” 

“If I can be honest…” 

“Always be honest with me,” Sehun smiles, and Junmyeon is momentarily distracted by the red of his lips against the white of his teeth. 

“I usually have relationships fizzle out,” Junmyeon says. “So… so if it seems to you like I’m taking things too fast, I think I just… you know, I think I wanna make some nice memories for whenever you’re gone.” 

“Who says I have to go?” Sehun asks. 

“Everyone leaves eventually,” Junmyeon says.

“Why do you think that is?” Sehun wonders, and he turns to face Junmyeon, a hand under his head. 

“I guess I just always… lose passion somewhere along the way,” Junmyeon says, and even saying it out loud makes his stomach turn. He’s _always_ been the problem with relationships. He’s _always_ the one finding problems. “I don’t know.” 

“Is it self-sabotage?” 

“Maybe,” Junmyeon says. “I don’t know.” 

“Could be that you just haven’t found the right person yet?” Sehun suggests.

“Everyone I’ve dated has been great,” Junmyeon says. “I’m the fucked up one.” 

Sehun sighs, and Junmyeon looks over to find him staring at the ceiling. 

“Everyone has flaws,” Sehun says, “and everyone has good things too. You can’t think so black and white. Usually in a relationship, and I mean, there are exceptions to the rule, but _usually_ , it’s not just the fault of one person.” He traces one hand up the side of Junmyeon’s body, careless and kind. “If someone needs to open up, then the other person has to be open to that. They need to open themselves up to receive, you know? They need to make it easy for the other person.” 

“You’re being generous,” Junmyeon says. “You can’t force someone to give more of themselves. You can’t… sometimes, people just _don’t_ want to.” 

“Then isn’t that the issue?” Sehun says. “If you don’t want to be in the relationship, then there’s something wrong. If you’re looking for a way out, then you shouldn’t be with them. There’s fundamentally something wrong with the relationship.” 

“That’s what I’m saying, though. There isn’t anything wrong with them.” 

“What I’m saying is that it’s not necessarily because there’s something wrong with _you_ ,” Sehun says. “Sometimes, it just doesn’t work out. Sometimes, the compatibility just isn’t there.” 

“We should have been compatible,” Junmyeon says. “Everyone I’ve ever dated. They’re smart, they’re funny, they’re beautiful, and I just—” 

“Just what?” 

“Can’t make it last,” Junmyeon says. 

“You think you’re _incapable_ of having a long-term relationship?” 

“I don’t think, I know,” Junmyeon says, frowning. 

“Oh, _babe_ ,” Sehun chides, and it sends a funny flipping feeling through Junmyeon’s stomach. 

“I wish I was joking, I just… I don’t know. I’m not cut out for that sort of thing,” Junmyeon says. 

“What makes you say that?” 

Junmyeon bites his lip. He knows Sehun won’t like his answer, but this is about opening up, isn’t it? It’s about sharing, isn’t it? The good and the bad. All of it. 

“I’m too much to handle,” Junmyeon says. “A-And I cut and run before people get the chance to be fed up with me.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“No one wants to be around for the bad parts, you know? And I don’t blame them, who could blame them?” 

“Have you ever given someone the chance?” Sehun asks. 

“What do you mean?” 

“The chance to be around,” Sehun says, and he takes Junmyeon’s hand in his, folds it up, and kisses his knuckles. “For the bad parts.” 

“Come on,” Junmyeon scoffs. “You want to be around for the bad parts?” 

“I can’t see much that’s bad about you,” Sehun smiles. “I’m willing to find out.” 

“You’re not gonna like it. That’s why they’re called the bad parts.” 

Sehun grins, and he leans forward, a hand on Junmyeon’s face. He presses his lips softly to Junmyeon’s, kisses him like they’ve got forever. Like this is something that could last. 

“Let me see ‘em,” Sehun says. “I want to. And you should let that be my decision.” 

Junmyeon closes his eyes. 

“Okay,” Junmyeon says.  
  


☴

Junmyeon does not find it easy to let himself be loved, but waking up in Sehun’s arms, comforted by his warmth… that he _does_ find quite easy.

“Mm,” Sehun says, and he presses a soft, sweet kiss on the back of Junmyeon’s neck, “morning.” 

“Morning,” he says sleepily. “Did I dream last night?” 

“No,” Sehun says. “All real.” 

Eyes shut, Junmyeon smiles before thinking of all the many ways this could go wrong. What does he do if things go poorly? What does he do when he loses the heat? When he can’t find the inspiration anymore? 

“What are you thinking about?” Sehun asks. 

Junmyeon supposes that it would be bad form to lie to Sehun on their very first day. “Us. The overwhelming negative energy surrounding me.” 

Sehun’s arms tighten around Junmyeon’s waist. “Really? Because lately, all I’ve felt is really positive energy. Like, a bright yellow aura.” 

Junmyeon wiggles back into Sehun’s body. “I wonder why that could be.” 

“Mm,” Sehun says, satisfied as he presses another kiss to the back of Junmyeon’s neck. “I wonder.”  
  


☴

Life is a lot different with Sehun now holding an official role in his life. The word _boyfriend_ suits him well. He’s smart, handsome, funny, and he usually lets Junmyeon pick what they watch on Netflix. Altogether, it’s a pretty good system they’ve got worked out.

Junmyeon already knew he loved the beginnings of relationships. Just as soon as he’s passed the beginning, he begins to dread the end. 

“You’re so _serious_ ,” Sehun taunts. “You’re having fun, aren’t you?” 

“Yes, of course,” Junmyeon says. 

“And you like me, right?” 

“I do,” Junmyeon says. 

“So then, let’s just take it day by day,” Sehun says, and he puts his arm around Junmyeon as they sit on the couch. “Let’s take it moment by moment, and see how long we can treat each other well.” 

“Okay,” Junmyeon says, giddy. “Like a test.” 

“Do you like tests?” Sehun taunts. 

“Shut up.” 

“You’re cute,” Sehun says, and when Junmyeon looks at him, he is eyeing him. “Wanna make out?” 

Junmyeon leans forward, and he watches as Sehun closes the gap, closing his eyes. The way his eyelashes lay along his cheeks… 

“Wait,” Junmyeon says, and he pushes Sehun back with a hand to the chest. 

“What?” Sehun asks, eyes open. “Is everything okay?” 

“Can I paint you?” 

“R-Right now?” Sehun asks. 

“Yes,” Junmyeon says, and he leaps up off the couch, grabs a canvas from the side of the room. “Just stay right there. It’ll be quick, I promise.” 

“Last time you painted me, it took a month,” Sehun smiles. “But all right, all right. I’ll just have to get a rain check on the frenching.” 

“Yeah,” Junmyeon says, and he begins to furiously mix paints before the picture in his head, Sehun with his eyes fluttered closed, mouth slightly parted, disappears. “Yeah, of course.” 

“You’re not even listening to what I’m saying, are you?” Sehun laughs. 

“Yes,” Junmyeon answers, a palette of pinks, golds, magentas and _wine_.  
  


☴

It becomes their new normal, Junmyeon would say. They wake up wrapped in each other, the embrace warm. They are slow to move. They eat breakfast together, Sehun sends him to work, and Junmyeon works. Each break he has is spent drafting ideas for paintings, paintings of Sehun.

In the evening, they talk over dinner, usually something that they both help with. Junmyeon’s never been the best cook in the world, but it’s exciting to sit down and share something that they made together. He saves his boxed wine for the weekend when they both have a couple glasses and turn into bed, hot with the buzz. 

Junmyeon has so much passion, so much _love_ inside him, and he doesn’t want to push Sehun before he’s ready. 

Every evening, they sit for a portrait, and they talk. 

Junmyeon thought that maybe they would run out of things to say, but between the two of them, there’s always _something_. 

Junmyeon paints like he’s possessed, dizzy with possibility, and the apartment fills with portraits, pictures of Sehun. Sometimes, Junmyeon goes for photorealism. Other nights, he goes more abstract, swirling balls of light making up Sehun’s form. It doesn’t matter whether it’s impressionism or Renaissance or surrealism. Sehun sits, poses for him, and when the paintings are done, he stares at them like he’s looking at himself for the first time. 

“How do you think you’re managing?” Sehun asks, and Junmyeon’s brush stills on the canvas. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You know, emotionally. Mentally.” 

“With what?” 

“Life in general,” Sehun says. 

“Okay, I guess,” Junmyeon says. 

“You seem happier,” Sehun says. 

“I am.” 

“Having someone else helps,” Sehun says. “Having a good support system.” 

“Yeah,” Junmyeon says, and his throat goes tight. “I don’t think I deserve what you’re gi—” 

“Stop.” 

Junmyeon leans out from behind his easel. “Stop what?” 

“No more negative self talk,” Sehun says. “A moratorium has been levied.” 

“Oh yeah? What happens if I break it?” 

“I’ll be very sad,” Sehun says, and he pouts pitifully, sniffing. “You don’t want that.” 

Junmyeon sighs. “No, I don’t.” 

Sehun easily throws away his act, smiling at Junmyeon. “Good, then. We’ve reached an agreement.” 

“I don’t think it will happen overnight,” Junmyeon says. “So if it’s something that annoys you, if you wanna stop what we’re doing right now, then—” 

“Nope,” Sehun says. “No self-sabotage either.” 

“I’m just saying, I know it can be an emotional burden.” 

“Hey. Come here.” 

“I’m working on your eyes,” Junmyeon says. 

“Put the brush down and come over here,” Sehun says. 

He is sitting at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around an apple split down the middle. Junmyeon takes one more moment to observe him before he sighs, setting his brush down and crossing the room to stand in front of him. 

Sehun scoots his chair back from the table as he sets his fruit down, and he pulls Junmyeon down onto his lap. Junmyeon instinctively wraps his arms around Sehun’s neck, and Sehun folds his arms around Junmyeon’s waist, burying his face in Junmyeon’s neck. 

“You’re not a burden,” Sehun says. 

“Sometimes, I can—”

“You’re not a burden,” Sehun repeats. 

“I—”

“You’re not,” he stresses. “You are incredible. You are amazing. You inspire me every day.” 

“Stop,” Junmyeon smiles, and he squeezes his arms around Sehun. 

“I’m just being honest. I’m just telling you how I feel.” He leans back, and he looks into Junmyeon’s eyes. “Now you. You tell _me_ how you feel.” 

“I feel like… I feel like you’re here for me.” 

“I am,” Sehun says. 

“I don’t want to bring you down.” 

“You brought me here,” Sehun says. “If anything, you’ve brought me face to face with the best part of my life.” 

Junmyeon’s eyes water, and he closes them, kisses Sehun. 

“Don’t be crazy,” Junmyeon says. 

“I’m not the crazy one,” Sehun teases. 

“Low blow.” 

“Yeah,” Sehun says. “I guess I’ll pay for that one.” 

Junmyeon takes Sehun’s face in his hand, squishes his cheeks together as he kisses him. They waste the rest of the evening like that, the painting drying for the night.  
  


☴

“Do you ever get bored throughout the day?” Junmyeon asks. “I mean, I don’t want to sound rude—”

“It’s okay,” Sehun says. “You’re a bitch, I get it.” 

Junmyeon snorts. “But do you?” 

Sehun shrugs, and Junmyeon studies the way his brow twitches upwards. “Not really. I mean, I keep myself busy. I read, and I use your laptop even when you say I can’t.” Junmyeon shoots him a look, and Sehun smiles. “I dunno. I’m having fun. I guess sometimes I wish I could go out.” 

Junmyeon’s heart aches. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s not like you’re trapping me,” Sehun says. “I just kinda wish we knew how it worked.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

Sehun looks back at him, unimpressed. “One more of those, and I’ll put my foot through the wall.” 

“Okay, okay,” Junmyeon laughs. “I’m just, you know, I want to make sure you’re not going stir crazy.” 

“Paint me in grand vistas,” Sehun whines. “I want to see the world.” 

“You’re such a dumbass,” Junmyeon says. 

“Is this how you treat all your boyfriends? God, now I know why you can’t hang onto a man.” 

“We’ve been over this, it’s my self-fulfilling prophecy agenda,” Junmyeon says. “I’m not falling for this trap.” 

“A trap, _hah_ ,” Sehun says, and he leans his head on Junmyeon’s shoulder. “You like me. That must kill you.” 

“You have no fucking clue,” Junmyeon says, but he leans his head against Sehun’s, closes his eyes. 

“You wanna paint tonight?” Sehun asks. 

“Yeah. Just let me charge up for a while.” 

Sehun snuggles in next to Junmyeon on the couch. “As long as you need, baby.”  
  


☴

After a couple weeks following the same basic formula, Junmyeon realizes that he is beginning to run out of space in the apartment.

“You could sell these,” Sehun says, stacking the portraits up and putting them in Junmyeon’s closet to make room for more. Junmyeon laughs with acid. “You act like that’s such a fucking ridiculous idea.” 

“Because it is a fucking ridiculous idea,” Junmyeon says. 

“What makes you say that?” 

“Who wants to buy art? Art from _me_?” 

“Yeah,” Sehun says, rolling his eyes, “the _worst_ artist in the world.” 

“See, you get it,” Junmyeon smiles, and Sehun shoves him up against the wall. “Oh, _take_ me.” 

Sehun grins as he takes Junmyeon’s hands by the wrists, putting them against the wall. He slowly slides them up over Junmyeon’s head, crossing them before he holds them there with just one of his own. 

He takes Junmyeon’s chin between his fingers, tilts it up until he is in the perfect position to kiss. Junmyeon grins, letting his eyes flutter shut as he waits for Sehun to close the gap between them. 

He feels Sehun move, but it doesn’t come quickly, doesn’t come fast. He opens his eyes, impatient, and Sehun is smiling back at him. 

Sehun pushes a leg between Junmyeon’s, pushes their bodies together as Junmyeon arches his back. 

“One day,” Sehun whispers. “One day, you’ll sell your art. You’ll make a lot of money doing what you love. You’ll be able to forget everything else. You’ll be able to make art your life. Because you’re _that_ talented. Because you’re _that_ special.” 

“Sehun,” Junmyeon whimpers. 

“Yeah,” Sehun says, and he leans in, kisses Junmyeon like he was created for the express purpose.  
  


☴

The reality of the situation is that Junmyeon’s negative energy doesn’t just _disappear_. Some days are great, and then some days… some days it feels like nothing has changed. Nothing in particular is different on those days, but it feels difficult to live. Difficult to _be_.

“It’s like waking up on the wrong side of the bed,” Sehun notes, hands behind his head as he watches Junmyeon putter around the room that morning. 

“You’re not funny,” Junmyeon says. 

“You think I am,” Sehun says. “Even if you can’t admit it.” 

“I’m gonna be late if I don’t get going,” Junmyeon says. 

“Get in the shower, I’ll make you eggs.” 

Junmyeon looks at him. “Don’t be sweet.” 

“Why?” Sehun asks, grinning at him. “Does it make it more difficult to be mad?” 

“Yeah,” Junmyeon says. “I like to wallow.” 

Sehun stands, and he crosses the room. Junmyeon pouts as Sehun takes him in his arms. He rests his chin on Junmyeon’s head, squeezes him tightly. 

“You can wallow,” Sehun says. “But I’ll be here to spoil you.” 

“ _No_ ,” Junmyeon whines. “I don’t deserve spoiling.” 

“Yes, you do,” Sehun says. 

Junmyeon makes a soft groaning sound, and it makes Sehun laugh. His hands skim down Junmyeon’s back, moving to ride the curves of his body. Junmyeon sighs out, the basic and lovely comfort overwhelming. 

“Hm?” Sehun hums. “How’s that?” 

“Good,” Junmyeon says. 

Sehun’s hands still at the small of Junmyeon’s back, fingertips dipping down. He smacks Junmyeon on the ass, makes him yelp. 

“Hey,” Junmyeon says. 

“Shower time,” Sehun smiles. “Then, eggs.” 

“Shower, then eggs.” 

“That’s my baby,” Sehun says. 

It’s hard, some days, but Sehun makes it easier.  
  


☴

“Tell me about your relationships,” Junmyeon says, and Sehun poses in the doorway, back to Junmyeon, looking over his shoulder.

Junmyeon hesitates with his next brushstroke, wondering if he’s gone too far. They know so much about each other now, constant comments over coffee, wine, tea. 

“You want to hear about my exes?” 

“Yeah,” Junmyeon says. “I feel like, you know, we know almost everything about each other, but I’ve never asked about your love life before.” 

“I guess,” Sehun says. “I’ve had a couple long-term relationships.” 

“Did you ever think about marrying someone?” Junmyeon wonders. 

“No,” Sehun says. “I was… I was too young. I was too ready to try all the flavors.” 

Junmyeon rolls his eyes. “Gross.” 

“Can you blame me?” 

“Yes,” Junmyeon says. 

“Ah, well…,” Sehun trails off, and he runs his hand through his hair. Junmyeon finds it easy to be distracted by his handsomeness.

He paints, and Sehun is quiet for a moment. Junmyeon’s head runs wild with ideas, ways to find out everything. He’s never felt so eager to know everything about someone before. He’s never wanted to know someone inside and out, down to the guts and bones. 

“Any girls?” Junmyeon asks. 

Sehun snorts. 

“All guys,” Sehun answers. 

“Ever _fucked_ a girl?” Junmyeon asks. 

“I have,” Sehun answers. “Not all of us are gold stars.” 

“That’s a hurtful distinction,” Junmyeon says. 

“But wasn’t it what you were asking?” Sehun asks, a coy smile painted across his face. 

“ _No_ ,” Junmyeon says. 

“Defensive.” 

“I just… I dunno,” Junmyeon says. “Fill in the blanks for me.” 

“I fucked a girl when I was in college,” Sehun says. “I was trying to figure out my sexuality.” 

“Did it help?” 

“It did,” Sehun says. “I liked her, but it wasn’t… it was enjoyable, physically, but like, sexually, I’m only truly attracted to men. I only want to be romantic with men. I dunno.” 

“That’s interesting,” Junmyeon says. “I don’t think I could get it up for a girl.” 

“Maybe not.” 

“Does that make me bad?” Junymeon winces. 

“Nah, it doesn’t. I’m just _super_ open-minded and cool.” Sehun spins back around, smiling at Junmyeon fully now. “Just kidding.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Junmyeon says. “Come on over. I’m almost done.” 

“Shit, really? That was fast.” Sehun runs over, checks it out. “Holy shit. Babe.” 

The pet name sends another thrill of affection through him, and he steps back, bites his lip. “Do you like it?” 

“I don’t know how you manage this,” Sehun laughs. “You always make me look… so incredible.” 

“You are,” Junmyeon says. “You’re incredible.” 

“Oh, stop,” Sehun says, and he bats Junmyeon with a hand. “You’re sweet.” 

“I’m just saying,” Junmyeon says, “even before, I don’t know that I’ve ever made art like this. I don’t think I’ve ever been so easily inspired before.” 

Sehun looks into his eyes, a smile cracking on half of his face. He looks to Junmyeon’s mouth as he leans in, presses a kiss to Junmyeon’s lips. 

“Do you feel like the passion is gone yet?” Sehun whispers. 

“N-No.” 

“The hunger?” 

“No,” Junmyeon answers. 

“Hm,” Sehun hums, and he kisses Junmyeon more deeply, tongue licking into Junmyeon’s mouth as he holds him at the small of his back. He pulls back slowly, devilish and unkind. “Interesting.” 

“Please,” Junmyeon whines. “C-Can’t we yet?”

“Is it killing you?” 

“Yes,” Junmyeon whimpers. “It’s killing me.” 

“Soon,” Sehun promises. “I’ve got something planned.” 

“P-Planned?” Junmyeon laughs. “What?” 

“It’s a surprise.” 

“Tell me.” 

“Well, then it wouldn’t be a surprise,” Sehun says. “Duh.” 

“Give me a hint,” Junmyeon says. “Come on. Haven’t I been good? I haven’t done any negative thoughts in, like, days.” 

“You’re getting really good at treating yourself the way you treat everyone else,” Sehun says, and he leans in once more, another kiss to Junmyeon’s lips. 

Junmyeon moans softly, and he threads his arms around Sehun’s neck, holds him there in an embrace. 

“I think you’re gonna be the death of me,” Junmyeon says. 

“No,” Sehun grins, “never.”  
  


☴

It is a Friday night, and it’s officially been a month since they started… _dating_. Even saying it feels a little nuts, but Junmyeon’s moved past that feeling. The craziest thing about it is how happy he is. The most insane thing is that he doesn’t feel the drag of humanity as much.

He still feels sad sometimes, still feels the gravity of living, but Sehun is there for everything. Ups, downs. Coasting. 

He walks into the apartment, and he smells warmth. He closes his eyes, inhales. _Coffee and chocolate._ Something like dessert.

“Hey,” Junmyeon says, and he steps on the heel of his shoe, wiggles his foot out before working on the other, kicking them aside. “I’m home.” 

“Hey,” Sehun says, and he is in the kitchen. 

“Have a good day?” 

“I did,” Sehun says. “Better now that you’re here.” 

Junmyeon’s stomach wells with affection. “Me too.” 

Sehun steps out into the entryway, and he is dressed nicely. Junmyeon stands there in open-mouthed shock, letting his eyes wash over Sehun’s body. The dress shirt is dark raspberry red, almost wine colored, and the top two buttons are undone, revealing some of his chest. The belt is black, a thin silver buckle, and the pants are dark charcoal grey. His hair is brushed back, styled up, and he is barefoot. It is a strange combination, done up and done down, and Junmyeon’s mouth waters at the sight of him. 

“You’ve been saying you wanted to get me nicer clothes,” Sehun says, and he turns, letting Junmyeon get a glimpse of the way the pants fit tightly against his thighs, his ass. “I figured… good opportunity.” 

“You look—” 

“Ravishing?” Sehun fills in. 

“Yeah,” Junmyeon says dumbly. 

“I’m glad you think so.” He steps forward, takes Junmyeon in his arms. “You smell like work.” 

“Should I go get changed to match you?” Junmyeon jokes, but when Sehun pulls back, his fingers at Junmyeon’s chin, he stares back at Junmyeon like it is the best idea in the world. 

He kisses Junmyeon softly, a hand slipping down to cup Junmyeon’s ass. Junmyeon moans quietly against Sehun’s mouth, feels Sehun smile against his lips. 

“Yeah,” Sehun says. “I think you should go get changed.” 

“Is this the surprise?” Junmyeon asks. 

“Yeah,” Sehun says. “A real date.” Junmyeon sucks in an uneven breath, knocks his forehead against Sehun’s. “Is that bad? Did I do bad?” 

“No,” Junmyeon says. “You did good.” 

Sehun’s grin sweeps across the canvas, and he pats Junmyeon casually. “Go on. Dinner in five minutes.” 

“Five?” 

“Yeah, diva,” Sehun says. “Can you do it?” 

“I’ve always been good at rising to challenges when they’re set b—,” and he cuts himself off. 

“Set by who?” 

“Authority figures,” Junmyeon says, and he feels the blush rise up to his cheeks. 

Sehun laughs, and Junmyeon wishes he could pass it off as a joke, but there is something authoritative about Sehun. Not necessarily in the way he speaks, the way he interacts with Junmyeon, but in the way he moves. He holds himself like no one can touch him, and here is Junmyeon… touching him. 

“Go,” Sehun says. “Five minutes.” 

Junmyeon goes to the bedroom, pulls out a selection of clothes he hasn’t needed to touch in a while.  
  


☴

Junmyeon doesn’t bother with socks, and so he pads out to the kitchen in bare feet to match Sehun. He tried his level best with such a slim time frame to put together a look. He’s always appreciated fashion on a deep and personal level. Clothes, like paint, make sense to him. Aesthetics are in his blood.

He works with Sehun’s color palette, cool deep purple and grey. He wears a cool grey turtleneck, the color of dark stormy sea skies, a pair of black dress pants that he hasn’t worn in a long time. They’re a little tight as he walks, but he figures that’s good for the look. He runs his fingers through his hair as he goes to the kitchen table. 

Sehun is standing at the stove, and when he turns, his eyes go wide. It occurs to Junmyeon then that Sehun has never seen him in anything other than pajamas or office drab. He stands up a little straighter, lets Sehun look his fill. 

But Sehun does not just look. He crosses the kitchen, takes Junmyeon in a passionate kiss, one that surprises a sound from Junmyeon’s mouth. Sehun swallows it hungrily, hands tight around Junmyeon’s waist. 

He breaks the kiss only when they are both breathing heavily, mouths already red. 

“You look nice,” Sehun says evenly, and Junmyeon leans his forehead against Sehun’s chest as he laughs. “Dinner’s ready.” 

“What is it?” Junmyeon asks, and he peeks around Sehun’s body. 

“Fra diavolo,” Sehun says. 

“Fancy,” Junmyeon says. 

“I made the pasta,” Sehun says proudly. 

“ _Fancy._ ” 

“You haven’t seen anything yet, bitch,” and Sehun goes to plate their food. “Get the wine from the fridge, babe.” 

It feels like a fucking dream, walking around his kitchen with his _boyfriend_ , talking about homemade pasta and fetching wine. It feels surreal, feels too good to be true, and he opens the refrigerator. 

There, standing next to his box of Franzia, is a fancy bottle of Pinot Grigio, cold to the touch. 

“W-Where did you get this?” Junmyeon asks. 

“Come on, you can get anything delivered in New York,” Sehun says. 

“Where did you get the money?” Junmyeon wonders. 

“Stole it from your sock drawer,” Sehun smiles. 

“I can’t believe you used that piece of information against me.” Junmyeon smiles, eyes welling up with tears as he stares at the bottle, thinks about how much Sehun has come to mean to him in such a short period of time. He turns, faces Sehun with watering eyes, and Sehun laughs. “ _What?_ ” 

“You’re very cute,” Sehun says. “I’ve never seen anyone get choked up over a bottle of wine before.” 

“Alcohol is my love language,” Junmyeon whispers, and he grabs the wine from the fridge, sets it on the counter. He takes Sehun in his arms, hugs him close. “You didn’t have to do all this.” 

“I like spoiling you.” 

“But—” 

“No,” Sehun says. “No arguments today.” 

Junmyeon hesitates, but Sehun puts his hands on the small of Junmyeon’s back, presses their bodies together. 

“Okay,” he quickly agrees, and Sehun kisses him quickly. “You’re really good at getting what you want, do you know that?” 

“I do know that,” Sehun says. 

“You’re handsome, and you use that to your advantage.” 

“Yes,” Sehun smiles. “But you’re very lucky.” 

“Oh yeah?” Junmyeon says, brow cocked. “And why’s that?” 

“Because up until now, I’ve only used my power for good,” Sehun smiles, absolutely fucking wicked, absolutely filthy. 

Arousal laces through Junmyeon, and he takes a small step back, giving himself a split inch that Sehun closes. His back bumps up against the countertop, and Sehun braces his hands on either side of Junmyeon’s body, closing him in. 

“H-Hey,” Junmyeon says softly. “The food…” 

Sehun doesn’t say anything, just leans in with his hands against the tile. Junmyeon breathes in, and Sehun is so close that the inhale makes their chests touch, and he shudders out a soft moan, hypersensitive, hyperaware. Sehun brushes the tip of his nose along Junmyeon’s throat, covered by his sweater, but it still makes goosebumps line Junmyeon’s forearms as he tries to hold himself still, as he desperately tries not to lose himself in the moment completely. He whimpers as Sehun pulls the neck down, pressing a soft, chaste kiss along the cut of Junmyeon’s jaw, and then another down lower at the hollow of his throat. 

Junmyeon instinctively tilts his head back, letting Sehun take whatever he wants. He is rewarded by the feeling of Sehun’s lips and tongue against his neck, sucking a kiss to the sensitive skin. His knees nearly buckle, and he holds Sehun by the shoulders as if for support. _This is silly,_ he tells himself. _Why are you being so affected by this?_

It occurs to him then that it is affecting him so much because he loves Sehun. He loves Sehun, and he has for a while now. 

Sehun presses another kiss to his throat, and Junmyeon’s hands slide uselessly down Sehun’s body as he works. It is the single most sexually charged moment of his life, and his eyes are wet as he tries to control himself, control his body and his heart. 

“What?” Sehun asks, and the words dance along Junmyeon’s skin. 

“I… I-I’m,” Junmyeon stutters, and he forces himself into Sehun’s embrace, their bodies pressed against each other. 

Sehun laughs, hugs him close. “My power is immeasurable.” 

“Be nice to me,” Junmyeon whimpers. 

“Pour the wine,” Sehun whispers. “And I’ll be very nice to you later.”  
  


☴

Junmyeon has never had homemade pasta before, and as it turns out, it’s worth the effort. He shuts his eyes as he takes his first bite, shrimp and onion and tomato and _red pepper_. There are hints of parsley, oregano, and basil. The pasta is softly al dente, well-seasoned, and Junmyeon moans. When he opens his eyes, Sehun is staring back at him.

“Good?” Sehun asks, and it is not coy the way it could be. He is open, vulnerable, hoping for praise, and Junmyeon will always give it to him because he always deserves it. 

“It’s unbelievable,” Junmyeon says. “I-It’s the best thing I’ve ever eaten.” 

“Oh, stop,” Sehun smiles, staring down at his plate as he stabs a shrimp, swirling his fork around to gather some of the pasta. “You’re just saying that because you have to.” 

“I really don’t have to do anything.” He reaches forward, grabs his wine. It slips down his throat, pleasantly cool and refreshing, and it only serves to elevate the flavors of the food. “D-Did you look up a wine pairing for this?” 

“Well, yeah. I couldn’t leave anything to chance.” 

Junmyeon snorts. “What are you talking about?” 

“I wanted this to be the best date of your life,” Sehun says. He leans forward. “So, how am I doing? Would you say this is the best date of your life?” 

Junmyeon has done some incredible things. He’s gone to the museums. He’s had picnics in the park. He’s gone to see Broadway plays. He’s gotten a couple’s massage. He’s gone wine tasting. He’s had dinner at some amazing restaurants, gone on some crazy adventures, seen some amazing things. Comparatively, a homemade dinner should be nothing. 

“Yeah,” Junmyeon says, smiling through the honest to God truth, his heart practically fucking glowing gold. “I think… I think it’s the best date of my life.”

“Really?” Sehun smiles, big and bright. 

“Yeah, really.” 

Sehun grins down at his food, and he kicks Junmyeon softly under the kitchen table. They finish their dinner slowly, luxuriating in the moment and in the food and wine, but most of all in each other’s company. 

As it turns out, it doesn’t matter _what_ you’re doing. The only thing that matters is who you’re with.  
  


☴

Junmyeon washes the dishes, and Sehun stands next to him, hip to hip. Junmyeon passes the freshly rinsed pots and pans to Sehun, and Sehun dutifully dries them before putting them away, accepting the next.

“I’m really glad you liked it,” Sehun says softly. “I was nervous.” 

“Why would you be nervous?” 

“You’re beautiful,” Sehun says with a shrug. “That’s intimidating enough.” 

“Oh, be quiet.” 

“Why should I be? I’m just being honest.” 

“This can’t be honesty,” Junmyeon scoffs. 

“And what makes you say that?” Sehun wonders, and his hands go to the frying pan that Junmyeon is trying to give him, but he doesn’t take it. 

“Because it doesn’t make sense for a person so beautiful to ever be scared about someone rejecting them,” Junmyeon says. 

“Then what’s your excuse?” 

“Shut up,” Junmyeon snorts, and he pushes the frying pan into Sehun’s hands. 

He shuts off the water, dries off as Sehun hangs the pan on the pot rack. He leans against the counter, watches as Sehun saunters over like he’s got everything figured out. Maybe that’s part of the reason Junmyeon loves him. He’s always wanted to feel like that. 

“You know, for someone so artistic, someone so fuckin’ _right-brained_ ,” Sehun smiles, and he huddles up behind Junmyeon, his arms wrapped around Junmyeon’s waist, “you sure are left-brained.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Even if that was _close_ to how things work, it just sounds so… weirdly logical,” Sehun says. “Emotions can’t be governed.” 

“Who says?” Junmyeon says, and he nuzzles into Sehun’s chest, eyes fluttering shut. 

“I dunno. That’s just how it is.” 

“I wish I could control how I felt.” 

“Why?” 

“Life would be easier,” Junmyeon says. 

“Sometimes, yeah,” Sehun says. 

“I’m waiting for the _but_.” 

“ _But_ ,” Sehun says, and he smiles, “it wouldn’t be as fun.” 

“You don’t think?” 

“I know it wouldn’t,” Sehun says, and he sways them both from side to side, a dance just for two. “I don’t think I’d still be here. I don’t think we’d be here together. But here we are. And I’m glad.” 

Junmyeon is pleasantly full on pasta, pleasantly warm because of the wine, and he is surrounded by Sehun, a person he _loves_. Some divine hand of God. Some celestial body come to grace him. 

“I’m glad too,” Junmyeon says softly. “I’m glad I couldn’t help falling in love with you.” 

Sehun breathes in just sharply enough that it makes Junmyeon open his eyes, running back over what he said. He was a little too comfortable, a little too careless, and he pushes back out of Sehun’s arms, eyes wide as he looks at Sehun’s face. 

“Do you mean that?” Sehun asks. “Or are you going to say you’re drunk?” 

“I’m not drunk,” Junmyeon says. 

“I know,” Sehun says, “but are you gonna say you are?” 

“No.” 

“Good,” Sehun says, and he takes Junmyeon’s face in a gentle hand, his palm soft against Junmyeon’s cheek. “I love you.” 

“I love you,” Junmyeon confesses, and his eyes well with tears. “H-How did this happen?” 

“Don’t look so terrified,” Sehun laughs, and he crushes Junmyeon’s body to his, long, long lines of heat. “It’s okay.” 

“What if something bad happens?” 

“That’s why there’s two of us,” Sehun says, and Junmyeon looks up to see the smile on his face. “We can deal with it together.” 

“Okay,” Junmyeon says. 

Sehun withdraws, stares into Junmyeon’s eyes like he can see through to the night sky. Everything he is and everything he does is imbued with beauty, and Junmyeon feels lucky, feels so very lucky. 

“Okay?” 

“Okay,” he repeats. 

Sehun closes his eyes, and Junmyeon lets his own slip shut as they come together again and again, sweet kisses that taste like dessert. Sehun is slow to move them back towards the bedroom, and they get lost even in the tiny apartment, Junmyeon pressed against the wall as they embrace over and over. 

“I’m glad we waited for a Friday,” Junmyeon whispers. 

“Why’s that, hm?” Sehun says, and he runs his fingers through Junmyeon’s hair, pulls him into another kiss, each more blistering, more fiery than the last. 

“I don’t wanna sleep,” he confides. “I don’t wanna do anything but—”

“This?” 

“More than this,” Junmyeon says. “A lot more.”  
  


☴

Junmyeon takes his time, and his hands are shaking as he washes them, staring at himself in the mirror. His lips are red, hair messy. He looks like he’s ready to be fucked. He debated over whether or not to leave his clothes off, but he desperately wants Sehun to peel him out of his clothes, wants it to be absolutely perfect.

He pauses when he gets to the door, hand on the knob. He breathes in, breathes out, and opens it. 

Sehun is sitting on the bed, staring at him. 

“Hey,” Sehun says. 

“Hey.” 

He stands slowly, crosses to him slowly, does everything _terribly slowly_. Junmyeon closes his eyes as Sehun’s hands come to frame his face, and he bites his lip gently before Sehun kisses him again. 

He was scared to put this off, scared to wait. Passion can fade, can wither into nothing without light to help it grow, oxygen to keep it burning. As Sehun kisses him, he realizes he was stupid to be scared. No matter how long they waited, no matter how long it took them to get here, it would never not be exactly what it will _always_ be for as long as they have it: perfect. 

He moans softly into Sehun’s mouth, and it feels like dipping your toes into the water. It is comfortable. They’ve been here before, cut themselves off, but here and now, they will stretch into the warmth. Junmyeon is excited, can’t help himself. He can’t pretend like he hasn’t been dreaming about this moment. He can’t act like this hasn’t been tucked away in the back of his mind ever since Sehun kissed him. 

It is soft, the way they talk with their bodies, and Junmyeon wants more than these whispers, more than quiet words. 

Junmyeon pushes his body against Sehun’s, hands at the small of Sehun’s back, and the dance is slow, a grinding, halting rhythm. He can barely breathe, unable to find self-control as Sehun kisses him, as Sehun presses against him. It is lovely, but it leaves him wanting, leaves him eager, giddy. 

“C-Can we?” Junymeon asks. “Please?” 

“You want it?” Sehun says. 

“Yes. Please, I—” 

“I want it,” Sehun whispers. “I’ve wanted it so bad.” 

Junmyeon closes his eyes, raises himself up on his tiptoes to rest his forehead against Sehun’s. It hits him squarely in the chest, the overwhelming storm of affection and lust. It is a perfect moment, and Junmyeon would not have traded it for anything else. 

“I’m glad you made me wait,” Junmyeon says. “I’m glad you made us wait.” 

“It’s… it’s good,” Sehun says, and he kisses Junmyeon’s throat, peels down the neck of his sweater. “It’s really good.” 

“I… I want to kiss you all over,” Junmyeon tells him. “I want… I want to show you—” 

“You’ve always shown me.” 

“But I want to show you… more,” Junmyeon whines, and it makes Sehun laugh. 

Sehun’s hands skim down Junmyeon’s body, gliding over his waist, his hips. His fingers play with the hem of his sweater, and Junmyeon sucks in a breath. 

“Can I take this off?” Sehun asks. 

“P-Please,” Junmyeon says. “Please, I—” 

Sehun pulls the sweater up, and Junmyeon aids in the effort, stretching the neck up and over his head. He turns, throws it back behind him onto the floor. He spins back around, and Sehun’s eyes slide over his skin, hesitant as he reaches forward. 

“Y-You’re so… perfect,” Sehun says, in awe as his fingertips touch the skin of Junmyeon’s hip bones.

“No,” Junmyeon says, closing his eyes. “No, I’m—”

“You are.” Sehun’s fingers skim and trace along the lines of Junmyeon’s body. “You are amazing. And I’m so lucky that I got to know you.” 

Junmyeon squeezes his eyes tight, and when he opens them, white stars fly around Sehun’s head like a halo. Sehun surges in to kiss him, luscious and lovely. Junmyeon gasps as Sehun’s hand comes to his neck, slowly sliding down to brush over his chest. It is the best he’s ever felt, the nerve endings lit up like fireworks as Sehun kisses him, touches him, _loves_ him. 

Emboldened, swelling with confidence, Junmyeon acts on his desires. He wants them stripped bare. He wants them naked and warm in bed. He wants their bodies to come together. He wants, _wants_. 

As they kiss, he struggles over unbuttoning each and every button of Sehun’s shirt, fingers shaking as he works. Sehun’s hands come to help, and together, they untuck the hem from Sehun’s pants, the shirt slit open to bare Sehun’s chest. 

“Now me,” Sehun says, and Junmyeon swallows thickly as he reaches up, hands slipping under the fabric. 

He puts his hands on Sehun’s shoulders, helps him to shrug the shirt off. It falls in a flutter. Junmyeon stares at Sehun’s body. It shouldn’t feel any different, but it feels important, feels poignant and special. He’s seen plenty of naked skin, but here, in the middle of his bedroom, it is different, thick with anticipation. 

Sehun smiles down at Junmyeon as he pulls their bodies together again, and Junmyeon shudders out a blistered, fractured sound. It is simple, this touch, and still it burns him up from the inside out. He gasps, buries his face into Sehun’s shoulder. 

“You’re burning up,” Sehun whispers, and he massages into Junmyeon’s back, each touch more tortuous than the last. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” Junmyeon says, and he wants to sink his teeth into Sehun’s bicep just to chastise him, wants to cover him in kiss marks and bruises. 

He’s never wanted anything more, blinded by desire and love. 

The foreplay has been stretched out over weeks, and Junmyeon has had enough. He’s ready. He’s willing. He’s eager. 

Junmyeon drags himself back out of the embrace with just enough time to put some space between them. He looks into Sehun's eyes as he puts his hands at the button of his pants, almost like a challenge. 

"Yeah?" Sehun asks. 

"Yeah."

Sehun follows him, starts to unbutton his slacks as Junmyeon works the zipper down on his own. He's desperate, excited, and his hands tremble as he attempts to get himself together long enough to shove the pants to the floor. He steps out, kicking the fabric away from his ankles, and by the time he looks up, Sehun is finished. They are standing there in their underwear.  
Junmyeon breathes in harshly as his eyes go to the bulge in Sehun's briefs, one that is adjusted by Sehun's hand. 

"Sorry," Sehun says, sheepish and sweet. 

"What are you sorry for?" Junmyeon wonders, and he reaches down to the front of his own briefs, strokes his erection through the cloth. "I... you're so..." 

"Hm?" Sehun says, and he steps forward again, snaking his arms around Junmyeon's back, holding him carefully as their bodies touch for the first time. It shocks a moan out of Junmyeon's mouth, and he chases it with a kiss. 

They work against each other, a sick, lovely grind, and Junmyeon hears himself become more and more lust-filled with every passing moment. He wishes they could get so fucking close that they never could be ripped apart. He wishes he could get Sehun so deep inside him that he couldn't ever be pulled out. 

"You are... you're so dangerous," Sehun says, and he kisses him hard, so delicious and sweet. 

"W-What do you mean?" 

"You make me feel like I'm losing control," Sehun says, and his fingers spread along Junmyeon's neck like watercolor along paper, like branches on a tree. 

Junmyeon can't settle the feeling inside him, only knows how to act on it, so that's what he does. He brings his hands to Sehun's waist, curving around his hips along to where they flare. 

"What do you want?" Sehun asks. 

"I want you to fuck me," Junmyeon says. "I-I want you to make love to me." 

Sehun's eyes go dark, his brow so strong that it could be intimidating. He doesn't have any time to feel stupid or silly, because Sehun pulls him into another blistering kiss, hot, wet, and good. He directs Junmyeon onto the bed, head between the pillows, and Sehun braces himself on an elbow as he leans over Junmyeon, kissing along his throat. 

"I want you," Junmyeon sobs, and he clings to Sehun's back, fingers scratching softly at the skin. "Please, I—" 

"Look," Sehun says, and he pushes himself up so that Junmyeon can look down between their bodies to where they meet, their cocks brushing against each other through the fabrics of their underwear. 

"Sehun, I—" 

"I know," Sehun says, and his hand comes down to Junmyeon's waist, thumbing with the elastic of Junmyeon's underwear. "I know, baby." 

Junmyeon can barely breathe when Sehun gets to his knees at Junmyeon's side, hands gentle and soft as they pull Junmyeon's underwear down his thighs, his cock flexing against the sudden chill. He sucks in air, bites his lip, and he tries not to completely lose himself as Sehun takes the brief down Junmyeon's legs, making Junmyeon raise his feet so that he can pull them off totally, thrown to the side when the task is done. 

"You," Junmyeon says, and he nods towards Sehun's briefs. Sehun quickly tugs at his cock through his underwear, smiling at Junmyeon. "You too." 

"'Kay," Sehun says, and he stands up on the bed, shucks them down without much pomp or circumstance. He kneels back down before Junmyeon gets a good look, but once he's there, lying beside Junmyeon totally naked, looking is the only thing Junmyeon feels capable of. Sehun’s cock is thick and hard, and Junmyeon's mouth waters as he stares. 

"Hey," Sehun says, and Junmyeon looks up sharply as he's jarred out of reverie. "My eyes are up here." 

"It's... it's so big," Junmyeon says. 

"Didn't figure you for a size queen," Sehun laughs. "Besides, it's not like you're _tiny_ or anything."

"Yeah, but you’re—” 

"Shut up," Sehun says, and he gathers Junmyeon into his arms. 

It is the first brush of their naked bodies against each other, and it is nothing short of exquisite. Junmyeon sobs, arms tight around Sehun's neck as their legs part to make room for each other. 

They work against each other in stop-motion, or at the very least, that's how it feels in Junmyeon's head. It might be that it's so much sensory overload that he can only process snapshots of the moments as they pass. He throws his head back, and Sehun kisses his neck, open and wet. Junmyeon pulls him into a kiss, and he pushes his hips forward, rocking into Sehun. 

"Can I touch you?" Sehun whispers, and when Junmyeon opens his eyes, Sehun's mouth is raw red. 

"Y-Yeah," Junmyeon says. 

"You have lube?" 

"Y-Yeah, it's in my... hold on, I'll get it." 

He gets up, confused by how hot he is so fast. He already feels like he's ready to move on, and they've barely done more than kiss. Still, he wants this. Never wanted anything more than this. It is almost _scary_ , how deeply he wants it. 

Junmyeon’s hands shake as he grabs the bottle from the bedside table, and he lies back down on the bed, legs spreading to make room for Sehun to settle between them. He breathes out, suddenly gut-punched by the way Sehun leans over him, lovely and laser-focused on Junmyeon. 

Sehun opens his mouth as if he wants to say something, pink, parted, and pretty, and Junmyeon is transfixed by the color and the shine. _I want to paint him. Even now, lying here, I wish I could paint him._

“What are you thinking?” Junmyeon wonders. 

“Just thinking that if you’re right, this is crazy, huh,” Sehun says. 

“Even if I was wrong,” Junmyeon says, “interdimensional sex. That’s new.” 

“We’re bringing new heat to the game,” Sehun smiles, and he takes Junmyeon’s hands in his, curls up his fingers to kiss the backs. “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” Junmyeon says, and the fucking fire that rages through him burns, columns up to the sky as he feels the flames lick him all over. 

Sehun kisses and licks at Junmyeon's fingers, evil in all the right ways, and Junmyeon's toes curl at the affection. He wonders if Sehun is always this good, if it's just because they waited until Junmyeon could figure himself out. 

"O-Okay," Junmyeon says. "Please." 

"Please what?" 

Junmyeon pushes a wet moan into Sehun's shoulder as he shoves the bottle into Sehun's hands. He doesn't need to say anything else apparently, because the next sound is the bottle uncapping. He lies back on the bed, legs spreading as Sehun shifts above him, and he closes his eyes. 

"Hey," Sehun says, and Junmyeon is hesitant to open his eyes. He's never felt more vulnerable, more ripped apart. Slowly, he lets his eyes flutter open, and Sehun is staring back at him, smiling. "Watch." 

"I-I can't," Junmyeon says. 

"Why not?" Sehun wonders, and he pours lube onto his fingers, immediately petting them along Junmyeon's hole. 

"B-Because," Junmyeon says, shivering because of the cold, "because I-I can't." 

"Is it because it's so very sexy?" Sehun teases. 

"Yeah," Junmyeon says. "I can't—" 

"You're doing it," Sehun says, and he rocks the tips of his fingers along Junmyeon, the skin going soft and supple. "Look, you're watching me." 

"I don't wanna," Junmyeon whines, high in his throat. "I can't." 

"But you are." 

He is slow, pulls back. He pours lube into his other hand, and he rubs it in his palm. It should be no surprise when Sehun comes to circle that hand along the head of Junmyeon's cock, but the slickness and warmth makes Junmyeon whimper. 

"You want it so bad, don't you?" Sehun asks, and there's no judgement, no criticism. Just awe. Just affection. Just desire. 

"Yeah," Junmyeon says. "I want it." 

"I've never wanted anything more than you," Sehun says, and with his other hand, he pushes the pads of his fingers against Junmyeon's hole again. Junmyeon is on fucking fire, alive with flame and smoke, and he breathes out weakly. "I've never wanted to be with anyone the way I want to be with you." 

It is comforting to know that even in this, they are together. 

He warms Junmyeon up, continuously stroking Junmyeon's cock, and by the time his first finger sinks into Junmyeon's body, he barely feels it. 

"You're tight," Sehun says, slowly pushing in. 

"I-It's been a while since I was with anyone," Junmyeon says. 

"You never... by yourself?" 

"Not really," Junmyeon says. 

"Even just touching here?" Sehun asks, and he works a tight fist down onto Junmyeon's dick. 

"N-Not really." 

"Why not?" Sehun asks, and he pushes the finger in to the knuckle. 

"I-I—you really wanna talk about this now?" Junmyeon asks, exasperated. 

"Humor me," Sehun smiles. 

Junmyeon groans as Sehun's finger pushes up and inside him as if he's searching, and Junmyeon squeezes his eyes shut tight, pleasure fracturing out from his core like light. 

"I h-haven't had much of a drive," Junmyeon says. 

Sehun fucks his hand over Junmyeon's cock again, and it makes a sloppy, wet sound, the kind that embarrasses you because you find it so hot. 

"You look fine to me," Sehun teases. 

"W-Well, it's been different, since you came," Junmyeon says, frustrated, but then Sehun pushes another slick finger into him, targets his prostate with slow, looping circles. "F-Fuck, _Sehun_." 

"You try to flatter me, I think." 

"N-No, I'm just telling the truth," Junmyeon says, and he moves his hips, searching for more and more. "I... I haven't ever wanted it like this." 

"You're sweet," Sehun says, and he leans down, kisses the inside of Junmyeon's knee.

The sight alone is nearly too much, and he closes his eyes as Sehun works him up, loosens him up. It is torture, waiting for his body to accommodate his mind, but at least the process is excruciatingly good. Sehun twists his wrists, fingers brushing up and down over the ridge of Junmyeon's cock. He is feeling warm all over, sweating nearly, and he makes a sound of frustration as he waits for Sehun to push a third finger into him. 

"What?" 

"I want more," Junmyeon whimpers. "Please, give me more." 

"I want to go slow with you," Sehun says. 

"Haven't we gone slow enough?" Junmyeon whines, and he reaches down, stills Sehun hand on his cock by grabbing his wrist. "C-Can't we finally—" 

"I don't wanna hurt you," Sehun says. 

"You won't," Junmyeon laughs, and when he blinks, he realizes that his eyes are wet. "You won't, I know you won't." 

"Things can happen by accident," Sehun says. 

"I know." 

"Just let me...," and Sehun slides a third finger into Junmyeon's body. It makes Junmyeon throw his head back, sweat dripping back. "How does that feel?" 

"Like not enough," Junmyeon whines. "Like I want something else." 

"Something like what?" 

Junmyeon leans his head up, cocking a brow at him. He moves his foot forward, nudging Sehun's cock with his toes. It makes Sehun groan, and Junmyeon likes that. Likes that quite a bit. 

"Something like that," Junmyeon says. "Are you gonna let me have it?" 

"Junmyeon—" 

"Yes or no?" Junmyeon asks. "I don't wanna ask again." 

Sehun's eyes go wide, pupils blown. "Where did this come from?" 

"When you're desperate for something, it becomes really easy to ask for it," Junmyeon says, and he nods towards the bedside table. "Get a condom." 

Sehun moves without another word, wiping his hands and balling up the tissues, and Junmyeon resettles his body back in the bed as he waits. He lies and watches as Sehun tears the foil with his teeth, and for something that's never seemed very sexy before, Sehun makes it alluring. He takes the condom out, rolls it on deftly, and Junmyeon observes through hooded eyes. 

"No one's ever looked at me the way you look at me," Sehun comments, and he rolls the condom down the shaft of his cock, pinched at the tip. 

"How do I look at you?" Junmyeon wonders. 

"Like I'm a work of art," Sehun says, and he slicks up with more lube, and Junmyeon's mouth goes dry. 

"You are."

"Of the two of us," Sehun says, and he settles the head of his cock up against Junmyeon's body, wet and open, "it is my personal opinion that you are the art. And I don't think I've ever seen anything more beautiful. Not in my whole life." 

Sehun pushes into him, their bodies colliding in a singular moment of bright light, and Junmyeon forgets to breathe, shocking out a gasp as Sehun takes him in a kiss. 

He squeezes his eyes shut tight, attempts to relax, but it feels like his body is on fire, lit up with a million little sparks. 

“Breathe,” Sehun tells him, and he tries to obey. 

“I, I—”

“You look… so beautiful like this,” Sehun whispers. “You look so lovely. I love you. I love you so much.” 

"You're not helping," Junmyeon laughs, and he can feel his body rhythmically tighten, nervous energy thrumming through Junmyeon's blood. 

"Sorry, sorry," Sehun laughs, and he pulls Junmyeon into a hug, a moment of solace for them to become accustomed to each other. "Let's just wait a minute." 

"Okay," Junmyeon says, and he drags air into his lungs. "Okay, okay." 

Sehun hums into a kiss that he places on the side of Junmyeon's face, and Junmyeon is slow to relax in Sehun's arms. He doesn't know how anyone could blame him. He is open, and Sehun is thrust into him, and every little tremble of his body reminds him that they are stuck together, that they are in love and that this is a moment that can last as long as they want it to. 

"Does it hurt?" Sehun asks, and Junmyeon chokes out a laugh. 

"No, idiot."  
Sehun makes a pleasured little sound. "No need for name-calling in a situation such as this."  
Junmyeon laughs again, arms tight around Sehun's neck. Then, Sehun pulls back from the embrace, hands on either side of Junmyeon's head as he holds himself up. 

"Is it okay if I move?" Sehun asks, and his eyes are warm and full of love. 

"Yeah," Junmyeon says. "Please... move." 

Sehun smiles as he tilts his hips back, and he rocks them back in slowly, punching all the air from Junmyeon's mouth. He can feel his face twist as Sehun pushes into him once more, all the way in. Deep and hard. 

"Does that feel good?" Sehun asks. 

"Yeah," Junmyeon says, and his cock is hard between them. He reaches down, strokes it with one hand as Sehun pulls back out, nearly all the way. "F-Fuck, Sehun."

"Yeah," Sehun says. "I... I think you—" 

"Don't talk to me," Junmyeon says. 

"D-Don't—" 

"What don't you understand?" Junmyeon says, and he thumps Sehun on the shoulder. "Don't talk as you're..." 

"Fucking you?" 

"F-Fuck, Sehun, please," Junmyeon says, and he curls his toes to hold back the waves of arousal that surge and stretch through him. "Please, you—" 

"You like it when I talk?" 

"No," Junmyeon says, "no, I _hate_ it."

Sehun laughs as he gets up onto his knees, and even that subtle movement is so much, so fucking much. Junmyeon gasps as Sehun takes Junmyeon's legs in his hands, pulls them to either side of his torso, and he stares down at Junmyeon’s hand on his own cock. 

"Should I tell you how fucking good you look right now?" he asks, and Junmyeon closes his eyes, can't bear to look at him when he says things like that. "I don't think I'm ever gonna be able to stop now that we've started." 

"Shut up," Junmyeon whines. 

"You don't like that?" 

" _I do_ ," Junmyeon says, and he wraps a hand _hard_ around the base of his cock. "But I don't want it anymore." 

"I feel like you still want it," Sehun says, and when Junmyeon opens his eyes, he is grinning wryly. "No?" 

"I don't wanna end this too soon," Junmyeon says. "P-Please." 

He feels the warmth flood his cheeks, and he hurriedly looks to the side so he doesn't have to look into Sehun's eyes anymore, so in awe, so in love. 

"Okay, baby," Sehun says, and he rocks his hips back, just the head of his cock still holding Junmyeon open. "Okay. If you wanna make it last, then we'll make it last." 

Junmyeon nearly cries when Sehun pushes back in. He doesn't think anyone's ever been so deep inside him, but maybe it's just a trick of the light, some romantic rose-colored glasses that he wears, painting Sehun in pink and red. Still, even if that's the case, Junmyeon has never felt so comfortable in bed with someone, never felt so able to be himself. He's never felt like he could have whatever he wanted as long he asked for it. 

Sehun begins to thrust into Junmyeon quicker, and Junmyeon loses himself to the rhythm, the sounds of their skin. He holds himself around the shaft, fingers stretching down to squeeze at his balls whenever Sehun does something terribly good, whenever he gets the angle just right and nudges against Junmyeon's prostate. He can't lie, it feels strange for someone to _get_ him, for someone to reach into him and understand at the very first blush. He gasps as Sehun pumps his hips, as the slick slide of their bodies becomes easier and easier, as it becomes better, more delicious with every passing second. 

Junmyeon lies there, and he tangles his hands in the sheets to resist the urge to touch himself, to stroke himself with vigor. His brain tells him to get off, to reach orgasm, to get what he fucking came for, but there is something so wonderful about the way Sehun stares down at him, the way he touches Junmyeon, leans down so that their bodies are plastered together. He rocks his hips, pushes in and out, and Junmyeon wraps his legs around Sehun, hooking his ankles around his back. 

"You feel so fucking good," Sehun moans, and Junmyeon moans in return, kisses the side of his face. 

"Y-You feel better," Junmyeon says. "You feel so good, I'm—"

"You're what?" 

"I love you," Junmyeon gasps. "I love you so much. I'm gonna—" 

"Come?" 

"I don't want to," Junmyeon says. "I don't wanna yet." 

"Here," Sehun says, and he gets up to his knees again, pulls out. The action makes Junmyeon whimper, makes Sehun groan deep in his throat. "Let's try something different." 

"W-What, do you want to... do you want me to flip over?" Junmyeon asks, and he rolls onto his stomach, already weak enough that it becomes a struggle to get both his hands and knees underneath him. He struggles up to his knees, legs spread, and he tilts his hips. "Is that okay?" 

There is silence for a moment or two, and Junmyeon looks back over his shoulder to see Sehun staring at his body in amazement. 

"T-Touch me," Junmyeon says, and suddenly, their eyes meet. 

Sehun looks hungry and desperate, and tendrils of desire streak through Junmyeon's body as Sehun's hands skim over his hips, down over his ass. He pushes a finger into Junmyeon, crooks it down, and Junmyeon nearly buckles. 

"You're so fucking perfect," Sehun whispers, and Junmyeon practically feels the words drip down the curve in his spine, arching his back as he silently begs for more. 

Sehun touches him, rubbing the pads of his fingers torturously inside Junmyeon. Junmyeon buries wails and whimpers into the covers, the balled up sheets in his fists. He wants to push down, thrust into the mattress for some relief, but at the very same time, he wants this to never end, wants to stretch it off into eternity. 

When Sehun finally withdraws his fingers, cock slick against Junmyeon's hole, Junmyeon feels a tear slip from the corner of his eye. It falls to the bed, and he meets Sehun's thrust, rocking back as Sehun rocks in. It is wonderful, the way they join together, perfect pieces. Sehun's hands are tight on Junmyeon's hips as he pulls Junmyeon back to meet every push. Wet sounds fill Junmyeon's ears, but all he can focus on are the sounds that Sehun leaks out, hisses like hot steam and groans from deep inside his chest. 

Junmyeon idly reaches back to hold Sehun by the wrist, his other elbow supporting his weight, and he groans, lets Sehun know just how good it is, just how fucking _hot_. He feels himself boiling over, just a step away from orgasm and closer with every fucking thrust. He can't stop himself from fidgeting, the braids of pleasure coming unfurled, the loose ends lit ablaze in amber and gold. He tries to fasten himself back together, but Sehun praises him, calls him good and beautiful, and the feeling of their bodies together... it's too much. 

Junmyeon panics, cries out as he launches himself forward onto the bed. He huddles the blankets close to his face as a few tears fall, and he looks back, sees Sehun's look of shock, fear.  
"Are you okay?" Sehun asks, a tender hand reaching forward to pet along Junmyeon's shoulder. 

"Did I hurt you?" 

"No, stop," Junmyeon says, "I was just...," and he hopes that Sehun will fill in the gaps, but he stays silent much to Junmyeon's chagrin. He steals himself, barrels forward. "I was close." 

"O-Oh," Sehun says, and he smiles. He lays his body down onto Junmyeon's, covers him with comforting weight. "I thought it was something bad." 

"No. Too good." 

"Never too good," Sehun says. 

"I-I don't want it to be over yet," Junmyeon says weakly, and he looks back over his shoulder, Sehun with doe eyes and red lips. "Is that dumb?" 

"Nah," Sehun says softly, and he thunks a knuckle against Junmyeon's temple lightly. "But you can always just say." 

Junmyeon knits his brows. "So now we're judging?" 

Sehun laughs as he pulls Junmyeon into his arms, rolling them both over onto their sides. They are curved around each other, and it reminds Junmyeon of how they've spent each night since Sehun's arrival. It sends another thrill through his stomach, shaking and shuddering, and he moans as he moves his ass back into Sehun's groin. 

"We never judge," Sehun whispers, and he kisses just below Junmyeon's ear, his breath blowing coldly over Junmyeon's sensitive skin. "Never." 

"Fuck me," Junmyeon whispers. "Please." 

"You tell me if you get too close," Sehun says softly, and Junmyeon can hear the sly smile.  
"Don't make me nervous." 

Junmyeon opens his mouth to argue, but Sehun takes the opportunity to steal the words from his mouth, slipping back inside him. The angle does _strange_ things to him, makes him feel like he's floating. Sehun has his arm under Junmyeon's neck, the other wrapped around his waist to hold Junmyeon by the waist. He pushes into him, a slow and grinding pace, and Junmyeon struggles to keep his lungs filled, struggles to keep himself from making noise because suddenly, all he can hear is himself. 

He bites his hand, digs his teeth in until he feels a bright spike of pain, but Sehun wrestles his hand away from him, tugs it into his own as they lace their fingers together. 

"What are you doing?" Sehun asks, and his voice is thick with effort. 

"Trying to shut the fuck up," Junmyeon gasps, and he squeezes Sehun's hand in his as he hits the right spot, hips tilted up and in. "S-Sehun, there." 

"Yeah," Sehun says, and he kisses Junmyeon's neck as he works, as he fucks Junmyeon within an inch of his life, pulls the sounds out of Junmyeon that he idly wishes he could bottle up. 

But this has always been able letting go, he realizes. Not just sex, not just their love, but the relationship as a whole. Getting rid of his preconceived notions, allowing himself to _be_ with another person and let them love him for who he is, faults and failures, treasures and triumphs. 

He throws his head back, groaning as Sehun moves his hand from Junmyeon's waist to touch Junmyeon's cock. 

"Stop," Junmyeon whispers as Sehun rolls his fingers up and over the head of Junmyeon's dick.  
"Please, I'm—" 

"Close again?" Sehun smiles into Junmyeon's shoulder. "Wanna ride me?" 

"No," Junmyeon groans. "I'm not good at it." 

"Please," Sehun says, and he thrusts his hips in hard, makes Junmyeon flop forward. "You think you're bad at everything." 

"I'm too much of a _bottom_ ," Junmyeon whines, but he's already moving to let Sehun lie at the center of the bed. He straddles him quickly, reaches back with a wet hand. "Don't make fun of me." 

"I won't." 

Junmyeon frowns as he positions Sehun's cock, sinking down on it fully. He lets his head fall back as Sehun bottoms out, as they become one yet again. He whimpers as he feels Sehun's eyes on him, so he picks his head back up only to see Sehun grinning at him. 

"Go on," Sehun says with a smile. 

"Don't be mean," Junmyeon says, and he picks himself with shaking thighs, sinks back down.  
"F-Fuck, I can't do this." 

"What do you mean? You're doing great.” 

Junmyeon sobs out a furious sigh, attempting to work his hips down onto Sehun's cock with more ease. 

"Come on," Sehun encourages, and his hands come to hold Junmyeon by the hips. "Don't you want it?" 

"I want it," Junmyeon whines. "I want it _so_ bad." 

"It's yours," Sehun says. "It's yours, just take it." 

Junmyeon raises himself up onto his feet, and he pushes himself up, lowers himself back down again. He throws his head back with a groan, a deep and embarrassing sound. He wishes he wasn't so wanton, so desperate and needy, but _God_ does he want Sehun. _God_ , does he need him. 

"You look so fucking good," Sehun whispers, and he helps Junmyeon move, lifts him up. "You look so good, baby. Fuck." 

"I can't," Junmyeon says, and he rides Sehun as best he can, body laced with pleasured exhaustion. 

"You can," Sehun says, and he thrusts his hips up, fucking into Junmyeon hard. 

Junmyeon whimpers, the sound rumbling out of his chest as he falls back down to his knees, sheathing Sehun again. It punches out another moan from him, and he desperately works his hips as he tries to take what he wants, take what he's been waiting for. His orgasm is just barely out of reach, and he tries to claw at it, mouth on Sehun's neck as he pants. 

"I love you," Sehun says. "I love you so much." 

"Sehun, I'm so..." 

"So what?" 

"So close," Junmyeon whines. "Please, help, I can't..." 

He doesn't get the chance to finish his thought. Sehun brings one hand to Junmyeon's neck, the other braced on his back, and he gingerly rolls them over, Junmyeon falling onto his back. He sighs in relief, the pleas swallowed like hot fire. It settles in his stomach as he pulls his legs back, thighs to his chest. Sehun is on his knees, erases the thin space between them, and then, as he withdraws and pushes back in, Junmyeon feels the last of his resolve shatter. 

He whines, high in his mouth like a keening kitten, and Sehun takes him in a kiss. It is eager and full of love, and Junmyeon wonders if sex always feels so fucking good when you love the person next to you. The thoughts swell inside him, and coupled with the feeling of Sehun's body on him, in him, Sehun's mouth on his, Sehun's soft noises of pleasure echoing in their valleys, Junmyeon nearly loses it. He digs his nails into the flesh of Sehun's upper back, red half moon marks left behind when he tangles his fingers in Sehun's hair. 

"F-Fuck," Junmyeon says, and Sehun thrusts into him slow and steady, each movement more excruciatingly pleasurable than the last. "I-I'm so close." 

"I wanna see you come," Sehun moans, and Junmyeon groans, everything building to an unsustainable level of heat. He thinks he might combust when Sehun pulls back from the kiss to stare at him. "God, I wanna make you come." 

"P-Please." 

Sehun works his hand down between their bodies, and he pulls at Junmyeon's cock with a spit-slick hand. Even just the brush of his palm over the head of Junmyeon's cock is too much, and Junmyeon nearly screams as he ratchets his hips back away from the touch. 

"What?" Sehun asks, and he kisses Junmyeon quickly, chastely. "Did it hurt?" 

"N-No, I'm just... I'm just sensitive," Junmyeon says. 

"Then that should make my job easy, shouldn't it?" He grins down at Junmyeon, pressing another kiss to his lips. "Can I touch you?" 

"Yeah," Junmyeon whispers. "Please." 

Sehun's hand slinks down again, and he takes Junmyeon's cock in his grip. Junmyeon squeezes his eyes shut tight, tries to focus on the rising wall of fire, but every time he gets close, he plateaus, unable to push himself over the edge. He makes a noise of frustration that Sehun kisses away, stilling the well-timed thrusts into Junmyeon. 

"Are you okay?" 

"Y-Yeah, just... I don't know," Junmyeon says, eyes wet and brimming. "Sorry." 

Sehun is silent for a few seconds, staring down at Junmyeon. He resists the urge to hide. He lets Sehun look his fill.

"Can I try something different?" Sehun asks, and he presses a kiss to Junmyeon's cheek. 

"W-What do you mean?" 

Sehun pulls out of Junmyeon suddenly, and Junmyeon makes an embarrassing sound, a yelp of sorts. Sehun presses another kiss to Junmyeon's cheek, chases it down Junmyeon's face, down his neck. Junmyeon makes a quiet sound of pleasure, eyes slipping shut as Sehun kisses his collarbone, licking and sucking at the skin. It is easy to forget that he was on the edge of frustration, and he holds Sehun by the hair as he moves lower and lower, laying kisses to Junmyeon's stomach. 

"What are you doing?" Junmyeon whispers, and Sehun looks up at him through his long, dark lashes. 

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Sehun asks, and he kisses Junmyeon just below his belly button, his tongue laving down the soft skin below. "What do you want me to do?" 

Junmyeon sobs out a breath, and he gently guides Sehun's head down, earning him a happy sound from Sehun. He wraps his hand around the base of Junmyeon's cock, and when his lips close over the head, Junmyeon is plunged into wet warmth, impossibly good. He moans, shut his eyes as if the lids were magnetized. He holds onto Sehun for dear life, hair between his fingers, and he is immediately thrown back to the edge of orgasm as Sehun begins to suck, moving up and down and humming around the length. 

It is a lethal combination, and Junmyeon can't decide whether he wants to watch or hide, torn between the two. His eyes spring open as Sehun's tongue swirls around the head of his cock, and he feels himself pulse weakly into Sehun’s mouth, a moan pulled from his throat. 

Just when he thinks it could not get any better, any more devastating, Sehun slowly pushes two fingers back into Junmyeon's body, aiming them exactly where Junmyeon wants them most. He digs his heels into the bed as he groans, hands pulling in Sehun's hair as if to beg for mercy.  
Sehun pulls off just a touch, placing open-mouthed kisses along the length of Junmyeon’s cock. Junmyeon stares down as though he can potentially memorize the picture enough to burn the image in his brain, and Sehun pets his fingers against Junmyeon’s prostate once, twice, a third time, and that’s it. Game over. 

Junmyeon moans so brokenly that his throat aches as he paints himself, the bright blue heat shattering through him as Sehun kisses his cock and strokes him through it. He can’t remember the last time he came so hard his neck ached, but just as he thinks he’s about to lose feeling in his hands, his body unbows, the cords of him cut. He relaxes into the sheets, groaning softly as Sehun withdraws his fingers. 

Sehun makes a soft sound, burying his head in the balled up comforter by Junmyeon’s legs before he crawls up Junmyeon’s body, gathering him into another warm embrace. He settles into it for approximately one second before he eyes Sehun. Sehun kisses him on the nose in response. 

“W-What are you doing?” Junymeon asks. “I gotta make you come.” 

“Oh, I’m good,” Sehun smiles. 

“What are you talking about?” Junmyeon asks weakly, but when he looks down to inspect, Sehun has spilled into the tip of the condom. 

“You make nice noises,” Sehun shrugs. “Can you blame me?” 

“I wanted to make you come.”

“Well, you did,” Sehun says. 

“I wanted to make you come _directly_ ,” Junmyeon clarifies. 

“Next time,” Sehun says, “as I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunity.” 

Junmyeon rests in Sehun’s arms, and he is vaguely aware of the line of sweat dripping down his forehead. They’ll both need to shower. Even though he came, even though Sehun came too, he is still filled with a vague arousal, the kind of useless lust that he can’t even muster up the energy to act on. He wants to cover Sehun in kisses and love, but he’s just so damn exhausted. 

In that moment, nothing matters, nothing but the two of them. He shuts his eyes, sighing happily. 

Behind his eyelids, Junmyeon sees them together as if he’s hovering above his body. They are lying in a field of lavender, Sehun’s body sheltering his. They are covered in flowers, in leaves, and it is the most beautiful picture Junmyeon’s ever seen. 

Junmyeon sits up quickly, chest still heaving with effort. 

“I-I’ll be right back,” Junmyeon says, and he leaps out of the bed. 

“Where are you going?” Sehun asks, hand behind his head, a smile on his lips. 

Junmyeon wipes the come off his stomach with some napkins, chucks them in the bin, and smiles at Sehun. 

“I’ve got to paint,” Junmyeon says, hurriedly throwing on pants before leaving the bedroom. 

“I’ve still got the condom on,” Sehun says, a laugh echoing through the apartment. “What the hell. Junmyeon, there’s tiramisu in the fridge.” 

“This is more important than dessert.” 

Junmyeon goes into the living room, hurriedly pours out a series of colors. He mixes frantically, and when Sehun pads out, standing by the couch, Junmyeon doesn’t even look up, only glances up through peripherals. 

“So, what are you painting?” Sehun asks. 

“Can’t talk,” Junmyeon says. 

“I find this very dissatisfying,” Sehun says, but Junmyeon can hear a smile in his voice. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he says. “I think I’m gonna file a formal objection.” 

Junmyeon nudges his foot into the trash can at his side. “Our complaint department.” 

“I hate you.” 

Junmyeon looks up, grinning at Sehun. “No. You love me.” 

“Yeah,” Sehun smiles. “I really do.” 

Junmyeon goes back to his palette, knife scraping and slicing through the paint. There will be time for sex, for tiramisu. Inspiration seizes you, requires you to act. Junmyeon’s never felt more fucking alive than he does when he’s with Sehun.  
  


☴

The next morning, Junmyeon tries to wake up early, but by the time he gets into the kitchen, Sehun is already there, flipping pancakes.

“Morning, baby,” Sehun smiles. “Get the syrup.” 

“Hey,” Junmyeon says sleepily. “I was coming to make you breakfast.” 

“What kind of top would I be if I didn’t make you pancakes?” 

“You’re not a _top_ at all,” Junmyeon snorts. 

“And yet I topped the absolute _fuck_ outta you last night,” Sehun says, and he looks back over his shoulder with a catlike grin. “Love you.” 

“Hate you,” Junmyeon says, and he stands behind Sehun, arms around his waist, kissing his back. “Is that a thing in the paint dimension?” 

“What?” 

“Pancakes the morning after,” Junmyeon says. 

“I dunno,” Sehun says. “Sometimes I just say things, and I hope you don’t question me on them.” 

“And I always do,” Junmyeon says, kissing Sehun’s shoulder blade. 

“And you always do.” He wiggles in Junmyeon’s arms, nods his head to the side. “Come on. Syrup. These things are good to go.” 

“Can I see the first one?” Junmyeon asks. 

“What?” 

“Your first pancake,” Junmyeon says. “It’s traditionally the ugliest, isn’t it?” 

“Not mine,” Sehun claims. 

“Then let me see it, hot shot.” 

“I ate it,” Sehun says. 

“You _ate_ it? You ate breakfast _without_ me?” 

“Well, it was only one pancake, but you know us tops,” Sehun smiles. “Very selfish.” 

Junmyeon cackles as he goes to the refrigerator, pulling the syrup out along with the orange juice. “You keep telling yourself you’re a top.” 

“Hey, one of us has to do it.” 

“Well, it’s against my religion,” Junmyeon says, and it makes Sehun laugh so violently that his pajama pants almost catch on fire.  
  


☴

Much as Junmyeon expects that things will change for the worse after they add sex into the equation, it does not. If anything, things change for the better.

Normally, he would come home, they would eat, they would either paint, pose, and talk through it or watch some kind of television or movie and talk through it before going to bed, cuddled up close. 

Now, they essentially do the same thing, but now sometimes after they get into bed, Sehun gives godlike head, making Junmyeon come so hard he recontextualizes what it means to receive oral sex. 

“You gotta stop hyping me up,” Sehun says, and he swallows thickly, throat rolling as he crushes what’s left of his water bottle. “I’m not _that_ good.” 

“You really fucking _are_ ,” Junmyeon whimpers. “I hate you.” 

“Ah, I like when you hate me a little.” 

“Tell me I’m good at blowjobs,” Junmyeon says. “I wanna be hyped up too.” 

“You’re good at blowjobs.” 

“More effusive, please.” 

“You’re the best at blowjobs,” Sehun says, and he flops on the bed next to Junmyeon. “If you had the faculties to demonstrate, I can give you a more accurate critique.” 

“ _Critique?_ ” Junmyeon crawls onto Sehun, kissing idly at his chest. “I’m expecting a _glowing_ review, so you better get your fucking Merriam-Webster’s out, babe, because I am going to have you looking through the thesaurus for synonyms of _exceptional_.” 

“Fuck, I love when you’re _cocky_ ,” Sehun praises, and he threads his fingers through Junmyeon’s hair as Junmyeon begins to make his way down to Sehun’s cock. “You are _extraordinary_.” 

“Mm,” Junmyeon hums, letting the vibrations tickle Sehun’s skin. “More.” 

“You are so fucking sexy it makes my eyes hurt,” Sehun laughs, nudging Junmyeon down to return the favor. 

“So I’m like the sun?” Junmyeon smiles. 

“You are definitely the light of my life,” Sehun says. “Now please put your mouth on my cock, or I think I’m going to explode.” 

“Your wish is my command,” Junmyeon says, and he closes his lips around the head of Sehun’s cock, making him choke out a sound of pleasure.  
  


☴

Routine can never be boring, not so long as Sehun is in the mix. He feels at home, feels like he’s being challenged, feels as though nothing could stop him. His collection of paintings grows as the days turn to weeks, weeks to months. The seasons change around them, and Junmyeon takes the opportunity to litter the corner of his living room with inspiration from outside, the spring blooming. Photographs of dogwoods and magnolias, white, pink, and maroon, are tacked up along the edge of the window, and when he paints Sehun, he often uses this warm palette, colors of blush and wine.

Sehun never becomes bored, or at the very least, he never tells Junmyeon he’s bored. He thinks, perhaps in a past relationship, he would have been terrified that Sehun was lying to him, would have overcorrected and either begun to pull back, disengage for good or started to surround him and cling to him. Insecurity would have climbed up his walls like emerald green ivy. He’s done that before… driven good people away.

“You don’t seem like that type of person anymore,” Sehun notes, and he is standing with a book cracked open between his hands like he is thumbing through Junmyeon’s pages. “I mean, just from my observations.” 

“What observations are those?” 

“I dunno,” Sehun shrugs. “I mean, I can only speak to our relationship, what I’ve experienced with you.” He relaxes his shoulders as if he’s expecting Junmyeon to scold him, throwing a little smile to Junmyeon. “I’ve never once felt as though you were trying to control me. Or like you were looking for an escape.”

“Because I’m not.” 

“That speaks to your maturity,” Sehun says. 

“I don’t think so,” Junmyeon laughs. 

“No? What do you think you’d attribute it to, then?” 

“I’ve never been in love,” Junmyeon confesses. 

Sehun snorts, and Junmyeon looks around his canvas. “Come on.” 

“Come on what?” 

“I just don’t think you know what you’re saying,” Sehun smiles.

“Okay, since you know so much about my emotions, please elaborate,” Junmyeon says. 

“You’ve felt passion for someone. You’ve felt a closeness with someone. You’ve become inspired by someone else. You’ve had sex,” Sehun says. “You’ve kissed people. You’ve shared deep moments with people. Doesn’t that—” 

“It doesn’t mean that I loved anyone. None… Not one of them.” 

“I don’t think you know what love is,” Sehun says. “You have an idea in your head that couldn’t ever match up to reality.” 

“I thought that,” Junmyeon says, and he lets his eyes drift down to Sehun’s mouth, Naples Rose and a dot of Cadmium Red, a pinprick of Burnt Umber. “And then I met you.” 

Sehun’s face softens, and he smiles. “You’re charming.” 

“I’m not trying to be.” 

“Then tell me what you mean,” Sehun says. 

“I mean… I thought that I would never find anyone,” Junmyeon says. “Not because I’d never felt strong emotion before, not because I thought I was totally incapable, but just that… it never felt the way people said it would.” 

“Not everyone feels things the same way,” Sehun says. 

“No, you’re right,” Junmyeon says. “And it didn’t feel like… like poetry or anything romantic like that. So I thought… well, maybe I just don’t love them. Maybe I don’t feel what everyone else is feeling.” 

Sehun looks off towards the window, behind Junmyeon, and he breaks into a smile. “What, and I make you feel like what they were feeling?” 

“No,” Junmyeon says. “I just… it made me feel something different. Something new. A-And I don’t know. I think it was destiny.” 

“You didn’t think I was real,” Sehun says.

“You are.” 

“What if I’m not?” Sehun asks.

“You feel more real than anything else,” Junmyeon says. “I swear.” 

Sehun goes silent, and he shuts the book. Strangely, it puts a bolt of arousal through Junmyeon’s stomach. 

“You finished for tonight?” he asks. 

“Why?” Junmyeon asks. “Should I be?” 

“Yeah,” Sehun says, and he sets the book down, walks over to take the paint brush from Junmyeon’s hand. “I think you should be.” 

Junmyeon stands from his stool, raises himself up on his toes as he leans in for a kiss, their lips just barely brushing against each other. 

“Do I have time to wash my brushes?” 

“No,” Sehun says. “No time to wash brushes.” 

“What about me?” Junymeon asks. “Is there time to wash me?” 

Sehun grins as he pulls Junmyeon into the kiss, hands at his waist. “I think we can arrange that.” 

The journey to the shower is as unhurried and lazy as their kissing, and they move like Sunday mornings, Wednesday nights. Sehun kisses him so well it almost makes him forget what they’re planning to do, what they’re planning on doing to _each other_. It’s something he’s never experienced before, sex so sweet it feels like being washed clean. 

They pull each other out of their clothes as the water warms, and Junmyeon steps in first, directing himself under the spray. Sehun likes it a little hotter than he does, but at that moment, he doesn’t care. He likes the way it bites. 

He offers Sehun his hand as the water soaks down his back, and when Sehun takes it, he pulls Sehun to him. They embrace under the shower of water, the steam slowly beginning to unfurl around them. Junmyeon breathes in deeply, but he only finds his head more fogged. He doesn;t think he will never get used to the way Sehun’s skin feels on his, not so long as he’s living, and thank God for that. Each and every time, it feels like fucking heaven. 

It is a meandering shower, and they get distracted by each other, all the wet skin. Muscles flexing as they move. Junmyeon traces his fingertips along Sehun’s biceps, down the veins in his forearms, and he thinks about streaking him with paint. Sehun kisses him, Junmyeon’s back to the tile wall, and Junmyeon moans softly into Sehun’s mouth. _What a portrait this would make_ , he thinks wistfully. 

They do wash, but they stretch the word _eventually_ to its logical limits before doing so. It is the kind of reverent bathing that only happens when two people are deeply in love, when they know each other backwards and forward and inside out. 

Sehun pulls him out by the hand once they’re finished, and he dries Junmyeon off with one of the fluffy white towels. Junmyeon sighs, goosebumps lining his arms as Sehun kneels in front of him, gingerly patting him dry. 

“Go put on lotion,” Sehun says, and he stands up, pecks Junmyeon on the cheek quickly before he starts to dry himself off hurriedly. “I’ll just be a second.” 

“Okay,” Junmyeon says, and he goes to the bedroom, sits on his side of the bed as he rubs himself down, hands, arms, and elbows before moving to his legs and his feet. 

Junmyeon watches as Sehun emerges from the bathroom, the towel left to hang on the rack. His body is incredible, so amazing that it almost makes Junmyeon believe in some higher being. How could someone this perfect not be the design of someone’s careful crafting? Someone’s diligent work and passion? 

“You’re doing it again,” Sehun smirks. 

“Doing what?” 

“Looking at my dick like it’s art,” Sehun says, tilting his head to the side. 

Junmyeon scoffs Sehun’s wrong when he is very clearly _not_ wrong. He stands up, takes Sehun’s face in his hands, and he kisses him hard, kisses him until he’s panting for breath. He smiles as he pulls away, feeling as though he’s won. 

Junmyeon puts himself face down in the mattress, legs spread wide, and he listens to Sehun gasp softly. 

“What?” Junmyeon asks. “Nothing you haven’t seen before.” 

“It’s still fucking hot,” Sehun says. 

“Every time?” 

“Yeah,” Sehun says, his hands coming to hold Junmyeon by the hips as he presses a kiss to the curve of Junmyeon’s ass. “Every fuckin’ time.”  
  


☴

One rare night away from the canvas, they are sitting on the couch, watching _Wheel of Fortune_. Sehun likes game shows, and Junmyeon indulges him every so often. He’s resting his head on Sehun’s shoulder, and he closes his eyes gently. It was a long day, and this is one of his favorite ways to unwind.

That’s why, when Sehun opens his mouth, Junmyeon wants to slap him.

“Do you ever think about your future?” Sehun asks. 

“What?” 

“The future,” Sehun says. “Like, your five year plan.” 

“I try not to,” Junmyeon laughs. “Gives me the scaries.” 

“Hm.” 

Junmyeon gives him a look. “Hm what?” 

“Just thinking,” Sehun says. 

“Thinking about what?” 

“Thinking about my own five year plan,” Sehun laughs, but he frowns at the end, and that injects fear into Junmyeon’s heart. “I mean… I’ve just been thinking about what the future holds for us.” 

“W-Well, what are you thinking?” Junmyeon asks. “Clue me in.” 

“I can’t leave,” Sehun says. “So… I don’t really know. I’ve just been worrying a bit about it.” 

It is unlike Sehun to look so fragile and vulnerable, and Junmyeon’s eyes go wide as he pulls Sehun into his arms. 

“Hey,” he says. “Don’t worry. It’s gonna be fine.” 

“I don’t know how it could be fine,” Sehun says. “I don’t think… I mean, I guess there could be a solution to the problem somehow, but I just don’t know. What if you want to move and I’m stuck here? What if we break up, but I can’t get out?”

“I’m not gonna break up with you.” He squeezes his arms tighter around Sehun’s body. 

“That’s not the point,” Sehun laughs. “I’m talking about the _option_. I’m stuck.” 

“I’m stuck to you,” Junmyeon says, “so don’t worry about it.” 

“You don’t have to throw your life away for me,” Sehun says. “You don’t have to stay here just because I can’t follow you.” 

Junmyeon can’t think of anything good to say, even though a million things run through his head. _I wouldn’t be staying just for you. I’d be staying for me too. You help me feel whole. You make me feel like I’m not alone._ They aren’t the healthiest things to think, but God, he’s never meant them more. 

“I want to stay with you,” Junmyeon says, and he closes his eyes so tight. “I don’t want to be apart from you. A-And even if that changes in the future, shouldn’t we focus on what we have right _now_?” 

Sehun breathes in, lets himself exhale in a sigh. He presses a kiss to Junmyeon’s head. 

“When did you become the sensible one?” Sehun asks. 

“Maybe I’ve been the sensible one _the whole time_ ,” Junmyeon says, and he begins to hum the theme song to _The Twilight Zone_. 

It is a stupid joke, but it makes Sehun screech out a little embarrassed laugh. That makes it worth it.  
  


☴

Sometimes they run out of things to discuss, pleasant silences in the middle of mornings or the evenings. Junmyeon doesn’t care where he might have previously. Being quiet with Sehun feels sort of like being alone, and Junmyeon has always appreciated alone time.

Sehun, on the other hand, really loves to fill the voids.

“200 questions to ask your boyfriend,” Sehun says excitedly. “Where to begin, where to begin?” 

“Probably at number one,” Junmyeon says, and it’s lucky that he is hidden behind the canvas because he rolls his eyes exaggeratedly. 

“Fine, boring,” Sehun says. “ _What would be your perfect day?_ And don’t be corny and say something like, _every day with you is a perfect day_ , because I will call bullshit.” 

“I wasn’t gonna say that.” 

“You _weren’t_?” Sehun screeches. “Some _hopeless romantic_ you are.” 

“I think my perfect day would probably be….,” Junmyeon starts, blustering past Sehun with a smile as he dots more paint onto the canvas, “waking up with coffee. Maybe a big breakfast? Like, maybe omelets. With bacon. And hashbrowns. Lots of coffee and some fresh squeezed orange juice. A-And we could take our time getting ready before maybe going to the Brooklyn Museum before there’s crowds. Like, really take our time through the exhibits.” He sighs wistfully. “Spend all day sitting and talking. Maybe go get pizza for dinner. Walk for a little before we went home.” He shrugs, looks around his painting. “Something like that.” 

“We?” Sehun prompts.

“Shut up about it.” 

“I’m just saying,” Sehun says, raising his brows exaggeratedly. “I think you might have a crush on me.” 

“I’ll make you ugly,” Junmyeon threatens. 

“Go ahead and try,” Sehun smiles.  
  


☴

“Number fourteen,” Sehun says, and Junmyeon is just finishing up on his latest piece. “What habit do you have that you think not many other people have?”

“Uh, I don’t think I have many habits,” Junmyeon says, and he dips into the pale yellow, streaks it into the sky. “Maybe, uh, smelling new paint?” 

“What are you fu—do you think we should talk about this?” Sehun asks. “Like, send you to a doctor?”

“Shut up,” Junmyeon says. “I just mean, whenever I get a new tube of paint or whatever, I dunno, there’s something satisfying about it.” 

“You’re gonna get cancer,” Sehun warns. 

“I’m _aware_ ,” Junmyeon laughs. 

“Maybe that’s why you’re seeing me,” Sehun smiles. “Too much inhalants.” Junmyeon gives him an unimpressed look. “What’s your favorite color to smell?” 

“I’m gonna gut you.” 

“Come on, red? Blue?” 

“Yellow,” Junmyeon says. 

“Ugh, you’re so predictable,” Sehun scoffs. “Van Gogh would just fucking _love_ you.” 

Sehun knows exactly what to say to make Junmyeon happy in subtle ways. His stomach swells with pride, and he goes back to his work. 

“Maybe,” Junmyeon says. “What about you? Rare habits?” 

“I don’t have anything nearly as exciting as you revealing that you huff paint by yourself,” Sehun smiles. “Okay, question fifteen—”

“No, come on,” Junmyeon whines. 

“Uh, I like snapping cookies in half before I eat them,” Sehun says. 

“What?” 

“I like snapping cookies in half before I eat them,” Sehun repeats.

“No, I heard you, just… why?” 

“I dunno, it’s just my _habit_ ,” Sehun says. “God, I didn’t think _I’d_ be the one getting judged when you basically just admitted that you’re slowly poisoning yourself.” 

“I will never be honest with you ever again,” Junmyeon says.

“Aw, my little yellow wallpaper baby,” Sehun smiles. “Okay, question fifteen… what do most people underestimate about you?” 

“My ability to kill my lover in the middle of the night,” Junmyeon says. 

“Fine, fine, I’ll drop it.”  
  


☴

“If you had _complete_ genetic control over plants,” Sehun says, “what is the coolest looking tree you could make?”

“These questions are absurd,” Junmyeon criticizes. 

“And what would your tree look like?” 

“I dunno,” Junmyeon sighs, “something like a baobab tree.” 

“Good start, good start.” 

“A flowering baobab,” Junmyeon suggests. 

“Color?” 

“Hm. Purple.” 

“Purples are rare,” Sehun notes. 

“What’s cooler than being rare?” 

“Ice cold,” Sehun says. “Alright, alright, alright, alright, alr—” Junmyeon sticks his head out from behind the canvas, and he raises his brow at Sehun. “I just like that song.” 

“What’s your tree?” Junmyeon asks. 

“I dunno, something silly,” Sehun says. “Ever seen a tree split from a lightning strike?” 

“Yeah, I’ve seen it once or twice?” 

“So, like, a whole _mess_ of those,” Sehun says. 

“That’s not… that’s not _anything_ ,” Junmyeon says. 

“Question 57,” Sehun says quickly, “what condiments do you refrigerate and which do you keep in the pantry?” 

“Hot sauce stored in the refrigerator and brought out fifteen minutes before a meal so it can come up to room temperature like a fine wine, and it’s not up for debate,” Junmyeon says.  
  


☴

“What’s the most memorable call you’ve taken or made?” Sehun asks.

“Probably when I called my parents and told them I was dropping out,” Junmyeon says, throat tight with emotion. 

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” 

Junmyeon stands back from his latest painting, tilts his head to the side. “It’s okay. I think I’ve come to terms with it.” He dips back into his paint, a deep brown, and moves it along Sehun’s bottom lashline. “It was hard, for obvious reasons. I, uh, I’d never really failed like that before.” 

“How do you mean?” 

“I was so adamant about going,” Junmyeon says, “and I basically _begged_ them to be okay with my decision. Like, it took them forever to accept it, and then, once they had, I tell them that I’m dropping out.” 

“Yeah,” Sehun says. “That’s tough.” 

“That’s one word for it.” Sehun snorts, and Junmyeon smiles in response. “I think I just… I wasn’t meant for that world. I think I got some good things from it, and the study was really good for me, but my art has always been a bit looser than that.” He shrugs to himself. “I didn’t need a degree.” 

“Right,” Sehun says. “It sounds like, I dunno, it sounds like you changed your mind about what you _wanted_ out of life. And that’s not something to be ashamed of. You didn’t fail. You just, you know, changed your mind.” 

“Yeah,” Junmyeon says, “but when you say _I dropped out_ , doesn’t it carry negative connotations?” 

“Maybe for some people, but doesn’t that say less about you and more about the person interpreting it negatively?” 

“Don’t be _smart_.” 

“I’m not trying to be,” Sehun says. 

“Yeah, that’s why it’s annoying,” Junmyeon says. “You just say smart things like it’s a thing to do.” 

“Aw, babe, you flatter me.” 

“What about you?” Junmyeon asks, and he realizes that he’s done with his painting, just changing things looking for something to do because he doesn’t want their conversation to end. 

“I don’t think I have anything as dramatic,” Sehun says.

“Still,” Junmyeon says. “Most memorable phone call. Doesn’t have to be bad.” 

“It was… ah, it was probably when my grandmother was about to die and I had to go to the hospital,” Sehun shrugs. “But she was older, and we had… you know, we had time to understand what was gonna happen, you know? I was young, I think I was… eighteen? Not that death is ever easy to handle, especially someone you love, but I had the mental and emotional faculties to understand what was going on. And I got time to say goodbye. Which, you know, always helps.” 

“Yeah,” Junmyeon says. “I’m sorry for your loss.” 

Sehun moves a shoulder. “Part of life.” He tilts his head. “Are you just taking a break, or are you finished?” 

“Finished. You wanna see?” 

“Yeah,” Sehun smiles. “Always.” 

Junmyeon moves back from the easel to give Sehun room to look, and he tries to observe the painting as if he has never seen it before. It isn’t much, his lines really blown out and faded like smoke. He looks up to Sehun, studies him for subtle changes in his expression. 

“It’s amazing,” Sehun says, and he flicks his eyes to meet Junmyeon’s. “You’re amazing.” 

Junmyeon smiles, and he leans his head against Sehun’s shoulder. “You don’t have to say that.” 

“I do. It is a moral obligation.” 

Junmyeon pushes out a soft laugh. “What makes you say that?” 

“Some things just demand kindness,” Sehun says. “Most things _deserve_ kindness, but other things, beautiful things… they demand it.” 

Junmyeon knocks the back of his head against Sehun’s shoulder. “Shut up.” 

“Okay,” Sehun says, and Junmyeon can hear the smile. “Bedtime?” 

“Yeah.”  
  


☴

Junmyeon runs out of ideas for Sehun one evening as they sit down for a session. He stares at Sehun who stares at him, and he has no idea what to paint, no concept or pose for Sehun.

“What?” Sehun asks. “Should I get naked again? I already told you, I have no problem with it.” 

“N-No, I just… I don’t think I feel like painting tonight?” 

“Oh,” Sehun says, and he flops down onto the couch, grabbing Junmyeon’s remote. “Wanna watch Parks and Rec reruns?” 

“Yeah,” Junmyeon says, and he walks over, flops down next to Sehun. 

He curls into the cradle of Sehun’s arms, and he tries not to worry. The warmth of the moment, the way laughter rumbles through Sehun’s chest… it makes things easier.  
  


☴

That one evening turns into two, and two expounds to four. The drought extends for two weeks with no end in sight, and Sehun doesn’t mention it once which somehow makes it worse.

Junmyeon sits on the couch, and they watch more _Parks and Recreation_ than they know what to do with. Junmyeon wants to be able to relax into it, take the much needed break, but he still feels uncomfortable with sitting, not doing anything. Sehun holds him around the waist as they lie across the couch, and their life together is beautiful and simple and good. The furniture is finally settling into grooves, and Junmyeon wants to capture that somehow, but just can’t fucking figure out how. 

“You okay?” Sehun asks quietly, so low that Ron Swanson nearly drowns him out. 

“Yeah, I’m good,” Junmyeon says. 

“Should I get you ice cream?” 

Junmyeon snorts, and he nuzzles into Sehun’s chest. “Maybe in a minute. I’m comfy.” 

“Good,” Sehun says, and he hugs Junmyeon tight. “Me too.”  
  


☴

Sehun knows Junmyeon better than he thought, though at this point, it should not be a surprise. All their time together is spent talking, and Junmyeon has never felt so deeply understood, like Sehun knows him down to the fundamental aspects of his being: his desire to create, his insecurities and his anxieties, his immeasurable love that previously had nowhere to go. They’ve lived with each other, intruding on each other’s physical space for nearly half a year. It should be completely obvious that Sehun can read him, understanding his mental and emotional just as well as the physical, but still, Junmyeon finds himself a bit shocked when Sehun turns to him that night, three weeks into his drought.

“What’s up?” Sehun asks, and he takes Junmyeon’s hands in his. 

“Uh, nothing,” Junmyeon says. “What, did you wanna get changed into pajamas first?” 

“I don’t mean with the television,” Sehun clarifies. “I mean with you.” 

“What—”

“Are you feeling okay?” 

“I feel fine. My stomach’s been super good since that tea this morning.” 

“I mean _spiritually_ , dummy.” 

“Oh yeah,” Junmyeon says, and he moves his hands in an exaggerated fashion. “Because I can intuit these things.” 

“I’m worried,” Sehun says. 

“About me? Don’t be,” Junmyeon says, and he turns to face the television, pulling a hand away to grab for the remote. He clicks on _Jeopardy!_ and raises his brows at Sehun. “Look. Alex!” 

“You are not good at assuaging my fears in this regard.” 

He huffs. “I’m not painting right now. So what?” 

“I’m not worried about you not painting,” Sehun says. “I’m worried about what you think of yourself not painting.” 

“I don’t think the magic is gone,” Junmyeon assures him. “I haven’t lost my passion.” 

“That’s a good start,” Sehun says. 

“What is NAFTA?” Junmyeon answers. 

“What?” 

“Familiar acronym for an agreement,” Junmyeon says, gesturing to the TV. “Signed by Canada, the US, and... nevermind.” 

“Junmyeon,” Sehun says. 

“Okay, fine,” Junmyeon says. “What do you want me to say? It scares me? It makes me feel bad?” 

He looks at Sehun, and it is a mistake. He immediately feels tears scream their way to the corners of his eyes, and he looks away quickly. 

“Is that how you feel?” Sehun asks. 

“Yeah,” Junmyeon says. 

“Then that’s okay,” Sehun says. “It’s okay to be scared.” 

“It’s stupid,” Junmyeon says. “It’s stupid, and I’m stupid.” 

“You’re not stupid. You’re confused, and you’ve been keeping a lot of things bottled up.” 

“As is my wont,” Junmyeon says.

Sehun laughs. “As is your wont.” 

He looks at Sehun again, and this time, Sehun is staring at him with love plain in his eyes. “What?” 

“I’m glad you feel comfortable telling me these things,” Sehun shrugs. “And I want you to know that, no matter how you feel, I will be here for you.” 

It is hard to swallow over the lump of emotion in his throat, but he chokes over it anyway, embarrassed by the way the small affection can reduce him to so little. 

“Thanks,” he says. 

“Yeah, no problem,” Sehun says, and he presses a kiss to Junmyeon’s cheek. “You’re an artist. It’s who you are. So don’t worry. It’ll come back to you.” 

Sehun puts his arm around Junmyeon’s body, letting Junmyeon use his shoulder as a headrest. He closes his eyes as Alex Trebek berates the trio of contestants for not knowing the answer to an NFL question, and he sighs out. 

It is strange, trusting in someone when you are unable to trust in yourself.  
  


☴

Without painting, the nights can sometimes seem a little empty. In all honesty, Junmyeon misses their conversations, the goofy little tangents Sehun would go on. He feels silly bringing it up, and Sehun looks at him funny when he does.

“We talk,” Sehun says. “I mean, we talk every morning and every night.” 

“Y-Yeah, I mean… yes, you’re right,” Junmyeon says. “Sorry, I was being stupid.” 

“No, no, just… elaborate for me,” Sehun says, and he is lying in bed, hair messy as they unwind after a long week. 

Junmyeon might not have said under normal circumstances, but his lips have been loosened by two glasses of Chardonnay, and when Sehun is lying there looking all _ethereal_ , he can’t help himself. 

“I kinda miss us talking the way we… like, how we did when I was painting you,” Junmyeon says. “When you were posing.” 

“Oh,” Sehun says, and he smirks at Junmyeon. “Are you upset we’ve yet to make it through the 200 questions for your boyfriend?” 

“S-Shut up,” Junmyeon says, and he goes into the bathroom, splashing water onto his face. 

“I’m just saying, all you had to do was ask,” Sehun says. Junmyeon walks back into the bedroom after drying off his face, and Sehun has his phone in his hand, scrolling. “Okay, okay. Where’d we leave off?” 

“I didn’t mean now,” Junmyeon says, but Sehun only pats the spot next to him on the bed until Junmyeon joins him, cuddling up close. 

“What do you wish you had said or hadn’t said?” Sehun asks. 

“I’m really grateful I have you,” Junmyeon says. 

“You’re so sweet,” Sehun says. “I’m glad you painted me.” 

“Me too,” Junmyeon says.  
  


☴

It’s early in the morning, and Junmyeon needs a pick-me-up.

“Shower with me,” he begs. 

“No, you’ll get too distracted,” Sehun says. 

“ _You’ll_ get too distracted,” Junmyeon accuses. 

“Fine, _we’ll both_ get too distracted,” Sehun says. “And you’re already running a little late. I’ll make you oatmeal.” 

“With apples.” 

“Yes, baby.” 

Junmyeon buries his face into Sehun’s chest. “Ask me a question.”

“Okay,” Sehun says, and he reaches out blindly for his phone, the light blinding as he brings up the window. “When’s the last time you were really wrong about something?”

“I’m never wrong.” 

“Okay,” Sehun says. “Time for a shower.” 

“ _No_ ,” Junmyeon whines. “Um… oh, okay, never mind. This is embarrassing, I think I will get in the shower.” 

“Never,” Sehun says, and he tightens his hold on Junmyeon. “What is it? When’s the last time you were _really_ wrong?” 

“When I first met you,” Junmyeon says. “I think… I think I didn’t want to let myself believe that you could be real because it all just seemed too perfect.” 

“Babe.” 

“That’s enough vulnerability for now,” Junmyeon says, and he leaps out of bed, hurrying to the bathroom. He shuts the door, shucking out of his clothes, but then, it cracks open, Sehun standing there naked. “What are you doing?” 

“Who cares if you’re late?” Sehun asks, and he pushes Junmyeon into the shower, lets the water pour down over them. “I love you.”  
  


☴

Junmyeon stirs his sauce, happy with the way it’s coming together. He turns it down to a simmer, and then turns back to the table, raising his brows. Sehun smiles at him, quickly looking at his phone.

“Ready?” 

“Hit me with it,” Junmyeon says. 

“What secret is someone keeping from you, but you already know all about it?” Sehun asks. Junmyeon looks over, finds him squinting at the phone. “This is a weird one.” 

“Yeah, I don’t know other people’s secrets,” Junmyeon sighs. “Do you?” 

“No,” Sehun says. “I’m very oblivious to secrets.” 

“Except that I had a crush on you,” Junmyeon says. “Very perceptive to that, apparently.” 

“Well, come on.” 

“Come on _what_?” 

“You’re excruciatingly obvious when it comes to some things,” Sehun says. “Me specifically.” 

“Move on to the next question,” Junmyeon threatens, and Sehun smiles as he looks down at his phone. 

It slowly morphs to a frown, and he looks up at Junmyeon. “We finished.” 

“Oh,” Junmyeon says. “Right. Well, yeah. 200 questions to ask your boyfriend.” 

“Let me find another,” Sehun says hurriedly, but Junmyeon covers Sehun’s hand in his. 

“It’s okay,” Junmyeon says. 

“But you like the questions,” Sehun says. 

“I know, but… but it’s okay,” Junmyeon says. “I think I was just… like, nervous that we were gonna run out of things to talk about.” 

“Never,” Sehun says. “You are a mystery wrapped in an enigma.” 

“Shut up.” 

“I’m just saying, I don’t think I’ll ever run out of things to ask you. I don’t think I’ll ever find out everything about you,” Sehun says. “We’re always changing, you know.” 

“I know.” 

“So then if you’re always changing and I’m always changing, then there’s always something to talk about,” Sehun says. He tilts his head to the side. “Right?” 

“Right.” 

“See, that’s why I find so lovely about you,” Sehun says. “You’re an easily calmed ball of anxiety.” 

“I think we were just made for each other,” Junmyeon says. “Because it’s never been like this before.” 

“You always talk so sweet,” Sehun says. 

“Just with you.” 

“I hope it stays that way,” Sehun says, narrowing his eyes. “No one else, got it?” 

“Yeah,” Junmyeon says. “Got it.”  
  


☴

He has a bad day at work, and he brings it home with him. It covers him like a shawl, wrapping around his shoulders, and as soon as Sehun sees him, his eyes go wide.

“What crawled up your ass?” Sehun asks, his words not matching the softness of his voice. 

“Nothing. Just a weird day.” 

“What was so weird about it?” 

“Just felt bad,” Junmyeon shrugs. 

“Want a hug?” Sehun asks, and Junmyeon goes to him gratefully. Sehun pats him on the head twice. “There, there.” 

It makes Junmyeon snort, and his arms hang there limply as Sehun embraces him. He shuts his eyes, lets the emotions overwhelm him for just a second. Something is building inside him, so much frenetic, wild energy that has no place to go. 

“Let’s eat, okay?” Sehun says. “Then, we can talk.” 

“I don’t want to talk right now.” 

“I feel like you have something to say,” Sehun says. 

“M-Maybe, I guess,” Junmyeon says. 

“We’ll be quiet when we eat,” Sehun promises. “It’ll give you time to think.” 

He keeps his promise. They eat in near silence, and that only forces Junmyeon’s emotions to surface, bubbling like foam at the edge of the ocean. He can barely breathe by the end of the meal, and Sehun washes the dishes in silence. He stands Junmyeon up, and he brings him to the easel in the corner of the room by the window. It’s been sitting there for so long now that Junmyeon can’t remember the last time he touched it. 

Junmyeon hates that Sehun is so good at anticipating, so good at reading him. 

“You figure out what you want to say to me?” Sehun asks. 

“Yeah,” Junmyeon says. “I think so.” 

“Hit me with it.” 

“I think I only know how to paint you,” Junmyeon says. 

“No,” Sehun says. “You know how to do a lot more than that.” 

“It feels like I can’t do anything.” 

“Because you got into a rhythm for a while. And that’s okay.” 

“But now I’m… now I can’t start again, you know?” Junmyeon says. “I had momentum before. Now, I’ve got nothing.” 

“You’ve got your talent. You’ve got your smarts. Your passive and your drive and your ambition.” 

“What should I do?” Junmyeon whimpers. “Tell me what I should do.” 

Sehun looks back from the window, and he looks like dawn. 

“I think you should paint,” Sehun says. He pushes Junmyeon down to the stool, and he goes to the bedroom, padding off silently. The door shuts behind him, and Junmyeon stares at the easel. There, tilted up, is Sehun’s canvas. The very first. The empty studio, the stool. If Junmyeon closes his eyes, he can practically picture Sehun still there. Black sheet thrown over his lower half. 

The last thing he painted on this canvas was the best creation of his life. It’s only downhill from here, but there is so far to fall. He smiles, grabs his acetone, and starts stripping.  
  


☴

He does not know how long he works, staring at the canvas critically, but eventually, all the paint starts to bleed together. He sits back on his stool, blinks several times in a row before he realizes he is surrounded by empty mugs. He grabs his phone from the windowsill, and the day is breaking, bursting through the blinds draped in gold. He clicks the button, sees that he’s been painting for seven hours straight.

He steps back, realizing that he needs at least a bit of sleep, and he puts his things away, cleans up his work. 

He wanders back to the bedroom, and Sehun is sitting there, legs all folded up with a book between them. He looks up at the sound of the door, and he smiles at Junmyeon. 

“How did it go?” Sehun asks. 

“I’m not done,” Junmyeon says. 

Sehun closes his book, sets it on the bedside table, and gets off the bed so that he can take Junmyeon in his arms. 

“No, but you started,” Sehun says, and he crushes Junmyeon in a hug. “And sometimes, that’s the hardest part.”  
  


☴

He wakes the next morning, but just barely.

“Why didn’t I go to bed earlier?” Junmyeon asks, face smushed into the pillow as Sehun’s arm wraps around his waist. “Why did you make me paint?” 

“You needed to,” Sehun says. 

“I need coffee.” 

“I’ll make it. Jump in the shower.” 

Junmyeon stumbles off, but by the time he gets out, he is refreshed. On the kitchen table, there is a cup of coffee waiting for him. He doesn’t even look to the corner of the room, doesn’t want to start to regret the work he did. 

He goes to work, and when he gets home, dinner is already made. It smells richly of onion and garlic, of _home_ , and he breathes in deeply as he steps across the threshold. 

“In here,” Sehun calls, and Junmyeon sets his bag down, toeing out of his shoes before he goes into the kitchen to find Sehun standing at the stove. He puts his arms around Sehun’s waist, leans his cheek against Sehun’s back. “Did you have a good day?” 

“It was okay,” Junmyeon says. “I missed you.” 

“Missed you too,” Sehun says. “It’ll be done in a minute.” 

“What is it?” He peeks over Sehun’s shoulder, sees sliced bell pepper, carrots, mushroom, broccoli, sugar snap peas, and red onion. “Ooh. Stir fry.” 

“Get something to drink and then sit,” Sehun says. “Nearly done.” 

He grabs a little bowl from the counter, pours the sauce over the vegetables. The scent of soy sauce and honey drift into the air as Junmyeon goes to the fridge, gets them both a small glass of tea. Sehun sets the plates down onto the table, sitting down with a smile, and he nods towards Junmyeon’s plate. 

“Eat,” he says. 

“You don’t have to do this,” Junmyeon says. 

“I know,” Sehun says. “I just wanted to do something nice for you. Something so that you could get your mind off things and just paint.” 

Junmyeon shuts his eyes, a bit overwhelmed by Sehun’s imitable kindness. “I love you.” 

“I know, I love you too,” Sehun says, and Junmyeon watches as Sehun picks up his fork, puts it into his hand. “Now, if you don’t eat, I will take it as a personal slight. We don’t want that, do we?” 

“No,” Junmyeon smiles. “We don’t.” 

By the time they’re finished, the plates and glasses empty, Sehun grabs the dishes, puts them in the sink and shoos Junmyeon away. 

“Go,” he smiles eagerly. “Go paint.” 

“W-What if I’m not in the mood to paint?” Junmyeon asks. 

“Are you not in the mood to paint?” 

“I am.” 

“Then go,” Sehun says. “I’ll clean up. You focus.” 

“I’m… this isn’t fair,” Junmyeon frowns. 

“Why don’t you let me worry about what is and isn’t fair?” He steps forward, takes Junmyeon’s hands in his, and directs them to his hips. Sehun holds Junmyeon’s face in his hands, kisses him sweetly. “What do you think, huh? Are you feeling inspired?” 

“Ah, yes,” Junmyeon gasps, and he leans into Sehun’s warmth like the purest example of heliotropism, a sunflower chasing after the sun. “B-But maybe one more. Just to make sure.” 

“Okay,” Sehun whispers, and he puts his lips against Junmyeon’s softly, the touch barely there. “Just to make sure.” 

He kisses Junmyeon like he was born to do nothing else, and Junmyeon opens, blooms to it, all his petals unfurling in the glorious, ephemeral light. 

He flits away from Junmyeon after a moment or so, and Junmyeon is left standing in his kitchen with so much creative energy welling inside of him that he feels like it’s bound to leap out of him. He goes to his easel, sees what he had finished the night before, and he grabs his colors, mixing quickly. Some of the thicker parts are still a bit wet, and Junmyeon smiles as he looks at the shade, the contour. 

Junmyeon works on the palette for a moment as he loses himself back into the painting, mixing a cool mauve, a muted peach to go along with it. 

He uses thin strokes, builds up patterns of blue, pink, purple, orange. Before too long, he is staring back at a person, whole and wonderful. He smiles, dots more ballet rose over the center of the mouth. 

“Junmyeon.” He looks up from his painting, turns back to see Sehun standing there. “It’s almost ten.” 

“Ah, shit,” Junmyeon says. “Sorry, I—” 

“No, no, it’s okay. I told you I’d check on you.” 

Junmyeon smiles, begins to grab his dirty brushes, but Sehun approaches from behind him. He stills, Sehun’s hands at his shoulders, and he moans out his appreciation as Sehun massages them quickly. 

“Tense. You okay?” 

“I've been sitting here for hours,” Junmyeon says. “I promise, I’m… I feel better than I ever have before about painting.” 

Sehun makes a soft, pleased noise. “Can I look?” 

“Yeah,” Junmyeon says, and before, he couldn’t ever imagine letting someone look in the _middle_ of the process, when he was so open and fragile. “You can look if you want.” 

“What is this, huh?” Sehun asks, and he rests his chin on Junmyeon’s shoulder. “Oh my God, it’s—” 

“Me,” Junmyeon says, and he turns, sees Sehun smiling back at the piece. “Do you… do you like it?” 

Sehun turns, and his eyes drift to Junmyeon’s mouth. “I like it.” 

“Really?” 

Sehun takes Junmyeon’s cheek in his hand, and he kisses him, lips sweet and soft against Junmyeon’s own. Junmyeon turns into it, eyes squeezed shut as emotion overwhelms him. It feels like love, feels like everything love should be, and it drips down his skin. He breathes in Sehun, breathes in the scent of ammonia-tinged affection. 

Sehun breaks their kiss, knocks his head against Junmyeon’s. “I fucking love you.” 

“I-I love you,” Junmyeon whispers. 

“Come to bed,” Sehun says. “Let me make you feel good.” 

Junmyeon moans softly against Sehun’s mouth, and the thought of their bodies together after so much work makes him pliable, soft. Sehun takes him from his seat, pulls him off towards the bedroom. He is slow to drag the clothes off Junmyeon’s body, and the feeling of his hands even through fabric is arousing. His blood is humming through his veins, his body trembling as he is stripped down. Sehun kisses along his collarbones, and his fingers trace along the sensitive undersides of his arms. 

“S-Sehun,” he whispers, and his eyes slip shut on their own accord. He takes Sehun by the shoulders, lets his hands skim over Sehun’s upper back to hold him by the nape of his neck. “Sehun, I—” 

“Open your eyes.” Junmyeon is slow to obey him, but eventually, he does. He finds Sehun staring back at him, lashes long, hanging low. “Kiss me.” 

Junmyeon is drawn by that red rope of love, and he kisses Sehun deeply. Sehun takes him by the small of his back, and their bodies press together gently. Junmyeon moans, down to only his underwear as Sehun is fully clothed. He whines into Sehun’s mouth, vaguely frustrated as he pushes his body more insistently into Sehun’s as they kiss. His hands slide down to Sehun’s waist, and he takes the hem in his hands, pulling it up sharply to bear Sehun’s stomach. 

He drags himself back from the kiss to stare down at the fresh, new skin, the muscles tensing. 

“Take it off of me,” Sehun whispers, and Junmyeon does not wait, pulls the shirt up and over his head before tossing it behind him. His hands immediately go to Sehun’s waist, fingers falling over the button. “Breathe.” 

“I can’t,” Junmyeon laughs, and he keeps his eyes on his hands as he struggles. “I need you.” 

Sehun’s hands join his own, and he covers Junmyeon’s hands, helps him unbutton and unzip. Immediately, Junmyeon slides to his knees, pulls Sehun’s pants to his ankles. 

“Up,” Sehun says, and he steps out of the fabric, kicks it behind his body. 

“No,” Junmyeon says, and he pets over the front of Sehun’s boxer-briefs, strokes him gently until his cock rises to the attention. “I want to taste.” 

“D-Don’t say things like that,” Sehun laughs. “Makes me want to…” 

Junmyeon stares up at him, tilting his chin up. “Want to what?” 

Sehun reaches down, strokes his hand along Junmyeon’s cheek. 

“Want to let you,” Sehun whispers. 

Sehun holds Junmyeon’s face in his hand as he leans forward, presses his cheek against the cloth. Arousal has never been hard for him to find when he’s staring at Sehun, but tonight, he feels everything doubly, as if there is magic running through him. 

He breathes out, lets it flow through him. If the universe wants him to paint, wants him to love Sehun with all of his heart, then that’s what he’ll do. That’s what he’ll do for the rest of his life.  
  


☴

Junmyeon finishes his first self-portrait that Saturday morning, and he immediately wants to start on another. He is excited, a feeling he missed, and he doesn’t want to lose it.

“You should take a walk before you get started,” Sehun suggests. 

“Why?” 

“Take a walk,” Sehun repeats. 

“ _Why?_ ” 

“Might be good for you,” Sehun shrugs. 

“Why are you trying to get me out of the house?” Junmyeon asks. 

“Why are you so suspicious of me?” 

“Because you are a mischievous, puckish boy,” Junmyeon says. 

“Take a fuckin’ walk, holy moley,” Sehun says. “Go get some inspiration from the universe, or whatever.” 

“I know what I want to paint,” Junmyeon says, but he puts on his sweats, runs his fingers through his hair. “Fine. Since you’re so desperate to get rid of me, I’ll go.” 

“I just think it will be good,” Sehun says. “Maybe take your phone.” 

“Uh, yeah, I will take my phone just like every other time I leave the house,” Junymeon says. “What the hell is going on with you?” 

“Maybe I’m getting sick. I should be quarantined,” Sehun says, and he pushes Junmyeon out of the room. “Have fun!” 

Admittedly, it is not the strangest part of their relationship, so Junmyeon takes it with a grain of salt. He goes to the boathouse, walks down to the water. He stares at his own reflection, imagines it with the motion of pinks and purples, motion lines from a palette knife. He smiles to himself, tries to imagine himself in the pictures alongside Sehun. Worlds he’s already envisioned. Only _now_ adding himself. 

Suddenly, someone taps him on the shoulder, and Junmyeon’s heart nearly drops, thinking it will be Sehun. He turns, sees a man with thick old glasses and a tweed coat. Junmyeon looks him up and down, thinking that he looks a lot like one of his old professors. 

“Are you Junmyeon?” the man asks. 

“Y-Yeah, I’m sorry, do I know you?” 

“Your friend sent me your portfolio,” the man says with a smile. “I’d like to buy your collection.” 

“W-What are you talking about?” Junmyeon says. 

“I was in contact with, um, Sehun,” the man says, and he fumbles for his phone, an outdated iPhone. He pulls up an email, and there is Sehun’s face dozens of times over, streaked in oils. “He arranged our meeting.” 

“O-Oh, yes, of course,” Junymeon says. “So, you, uh, you were interested in purchasing one of the portraits?” 

“One?” the man laughs. “I want them all.” 

Junmyeon nearly falls into the water. 

“A-Are you sure?” Junmyeon asks. “I mean, they’re—”

“They’re great,” the man says. “There’s… what, twenty-three in total?” 

“Yeah,” Junmyeon says. “I, uh, yeah. Twenty-three.” 

“Can I throw out what I was thinking as far as price?” the man asks. “Feel free to turn me down.” 

“Sure,” Junmyeon says, and when he sees the man typing _23 x 2000_ into his calculator, he nearly collapses. “F-Fuck, you can’t be serious.” 

“Factoring in time, cost of materials, and most importantly _the talent_ , I think I’m serious,” the man says, and he pulls out a card from his wallet, slipping it into Junmyeon’s hand. “You can call anytime. I can have my assistant set up the details of the sale whenever you’re ready.” 

“Yeah,” Junymeon says, frantically nodding. “Yes, of course.” 

“And keep me in mind,” the man says, and Junmyeon looks down at the card in his hand, sees _Maxwell Mason, Independent Art Collector_ , “whenever you’re working on a new series.” 

Max begins to walk away, and Junmyeon is dumbstruck for a moment. He doesn’t know how he manages to choke the words out, but he does, nearly stumbling as he steps forward. 

“I-I’m actually… uh,” and he loses confidence when Max turns back to him with a smile. “I’m…. um, I’m working on a new series now. A companion series, actually.” 

“Intriguing,” Max says. “Companion how?” 

“A series of self-portraits,” Junmyeon says. “In, um, the same styles as the originals.” 

Max nods, a little smile on his face. 

“Forty six,” Max says. “I’ll take ‘em.” 

“W—But you haven’t seen them yet,” Junmyeon says. “I haven’t even finished them.” 

“I want them,” Max says. “As long as you’re selling them, I want them.” He tilts his head to the side. “Are you selling them, Junmyeon?” 

“Yes,” Junmyeon says softly. 

“Then you’ve got a check coming your way,” Max says, and he waves, walking away from Junmyeon, throwing the rest of his words over his shoulder. “We’ll talk soon. In the meantime, _paint_.”  
  


☴

Junmyeon bursts into the apartment breathing heavily. He ran home, and he didn’t stop running until he got to the door.

“At least you got your cardio,” Sehun smiles, legs kicked over the arm of the couch. “Did you have fun?” 

“I got an offer,” Junmyeon says. “You… you got me a buyer.” 

“If I overstepped my bounds, then I hope you told him no,” Sehun says. “I just thought… you know, if someone wanted to buy them, then—” 

“How long did you look?” 

Sehun sits up. “Not very long.” 

“He’s gonna buy them. The whole set of you,” Junmyeon says breathlessly. “And a whole set of me.” 

“Wait, really?” Sehun asks, and he stands up, crossing the room with only a couple long strides before he gathers Junmyeon into his arms, kissing him on the side of the face. “Congratulations. Holy shit, _babe_. This is amazing. I’m so fucking proud of you, I _told_ you you could do it.” 

“H-How did you manage… Sehun, _I_ —” 

“Believe it or not, it was really easy once I got my email working in this dimension,” Sehun says. 

“I can’t trust you,” Junmyeon smiles. “You’re fucking… you’re imbued with the knowledge of the multiuniverse or whatever.” 

“Nope,” Sehun says, and he squeezes Junmyeon again, pressing a kiss against Junmyeon’s temple. “I just knew… I knew you needed something.” 

“Like what?” 

“Something to remind you,” Sehun whispers, and he presses a kiss to Junmyeon’s lips. “Something to push you forward.” He knocks his head against Junmyeon’s. “You’re fucking great at this. You’re amazing at this. No one has ever been better.” 

“Shut up,” Junmyeon snorts, but he squeezes Sehun a little tighter in his arms. 

“You’re starting to believe in yourself,” Sehun says. “Imagine your power once you’re fully confident in your own ability.” 

“I think I will become a nightmare.” 

“Nah,” Sehun smiles, and he presses a kiss to Junmyeon’s hair. “Never.”  
  


☴

Junmyeon works on his series of self-portraits, confused and delighted. He’s never had a _buyer_ before outside of little doodles he used to do in college. This is a massive undertaking. This is _something_ , something _concrete_.

He takes a week of PTO, days he was saving for when he felt too lazy, and he buys his canvases in bulk, makes sure he has plenty of paint. He’s gonna need it. 

On Monday, he paints from the time he wakes up to the time Sehun pulls him away to the bed, and he checks his second self-portrait off the list. On Tuesday, he sketches out the rest of his ideas, cooks with Sehun, and watches television until he can’t feel his ass. On Wednesday, he only manages to get a few hours in before his eyes begin to ache. 

“Don’t worry,” Sehun says. He’s got Junmyeon’s head in his lap, combing his fingers through Junmyeon’s hair. “It’s not like he expects them on his doorstep within the week.” 

“I’ve sort of missed having a deadline,” Junmyeon says, and he looks up into Sehun’s eyes. “Do you ever miss school like that?” 

“No,” Sehun smiles, hand stilling in Junmyeon’s hair. “You’re a freak.” 

Junmyeon lets his eyes slip shut. “Get back to work, lackey.” 

“Yes, sir.”  
  


☴

The week off passes, and it is pretty much the best week of Junmyeon’s life. It lets him imagine what it could be like, their life together. He dreams about these days that stretch on into forever, Sehun at his side, gently encouraging him, bringing him coffee, reminding him to keep quiet during Sehun’s soaps.

Junmyeon gives him a critical eye. “Since when do you watch _The Young and The Restless_?” 

“Since last week,” Sehun says. “Duh. If you paid attention to me and my very good hobbies and interests, then you would know.” 

“I think I would have remembered if you said you suddenly had the interests of a sixty-five year old recent retiree.” 

“Storylines are captivating,” Sehun says. 

“I can’t believe we’re in love.” 

“I know, right?” Sehun says. He smiles at Junmyeon, and God, it is lovely sweep of rose and white. Distantly, Junmyeon misses painting him. “What?” 

“Nothing,” Junmyeon says. “Maybe lunch soon?” 

“Grilled cheese,” Sehun suggests. “And soup.” 

“Yeah, tomato soup,” Junmyeon sighs. “That sounds nice.” 

“Comin’ right up,” Sehun says, but he keeps his eyes glued to the television, to the unraveling drama. 

“Anytime soon, or…?” 

“Give me a minute,” Sehun says. “I think they’re gonna get the paternity results soon.” 

“You’re joking,” Junmyeon says. 

“I wish I was,” Sehun says, and Junmyeon watches as the envelope is opened, as the woman pulls the sheet of paper from the manila envelope. He gasps, and Junmyeon is strangely transfixed as she begins to read what appears to be a ransom note. “Oh my God. Oh my God, this changes _everything_.” 

“I guess I’m making lunch.” He pushes up from his stool and starts to walk across the room to the kitchen, and when he crosses in front of the television, Sehun begins to screech like a fucking banshee. “Christ, put a lid on it. We have neighbors.” 

“They’ll understand,” Sehun says, and as Junmyeon gets to work on fixing their sandwiches, Sehun walks over. “How are you making out on the portraits?” 

“Nearly half done this one,” Junmyeon says. “So that’s… nearly seven done.” 

“You’re incomparable.” 

“Shut up.” 

“I adore you,” Sehun sighs. 

“I like you, unfortunately,” Junmyeon smiles.  
  


☴

Going back to work is not ideal, of course, but he always has something to look forward to when he gets home. The work really fuels him, makes him feel as though there is something worth working towards. It’s never easy, but it is fun, and Junmyeon always feels rewarded when Sehun tells him he’s doing well, kisses him sweetly.

“You’re really getting there,” Sehun says, and he swirls pasta on his fork. “I mean, look at this place.” 

Junmyeon looks around, the canvases leaned against the walls as they dry. He’s past the halfway mark now, and he’s had to go back out for paint twice already. He bites his lip, looks down at his plate.

“Yeah, it’s coming along,” Junmyeon says. 

“I’m proud of you,” Sehun says. 

“Don’t.” 

“I am,” Sehun says. “And I think you deserve this.” 

Junmyeon bites his smile, finishes up his dinner quickly. He’s got paints to mix.  
  


☴

He strokes softly, the lines bleeding into one another as he paints. He loses himself in the act, almost forgetting that he is staring at a version of himself that exists in the paint dimension. He smiles to himself as he quickly dips back into his pastel blue, laying the color down at the highpoint of his cheek, short strokes that become long the farther away you stand. He squints, lets the colors meld for a moment.

“Babe,” Sehun calls, and Junmyeon looks back over his shoulder, sees Sehun leaning against the wall with his hip cocked to the side. “You coming to bed?” 

“Yeah,” Junmyeon says. “Just finishing up.” 

“Finishing up for the night, or finishing up this one?” 

“This one,” Junmyeon says with a smile. “It’ll just be a minute.” 

Sehun wrinkles his nose cutely as he smiles. “Sounds good. See you in a minute.” 

Junmyeon finishes up within the half hour, and he wipes his brushes down in the sink, lets them dry on the rack. He pads off towards the bedroom, and Sehun has his book cracked open in his hands. 

“What are you reading?” 

“ _Killing Commendatore_ ,” Sehun replies, and he doesn’t look up from the book for a moment before setting it down next to him on the bedside table, staring at Junmyeon. “Hi.” 

“Hi.” 

“Shower?” Sehun offers. 

“In the morning, I think,” Junmyeon says, and he changes into his sweats, heads into the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth. “God, I’m exhausted.” 

“I can only imagine,” Sehun says, and his voice floats in from the bedroom. “I’m proud of you.” 

“Stop saying that.” He rubs his moisturizer into his skin, and he hears Sehun laugh. 

“You better get used to it,” Sehun says, “because I don’t think I’m gonna stop being proud of you. Not now, not ever.” 

Junmyeon stands in the doorway to the bathroom, looking at Sehun looking back at him. 

“I love you,” Junmyeon says. 

“Yeah,” Sehun says. “Love you too.” 

The room is dim with amber light, and it makes Junmyeon’s heart ache in his chest. He shuts it off quietly, and he gets into bed. They curl around each other, just two dark strokes of red paint in the midst of white. He closes his eyes, feeling the warmth settle in around their bodies. 

“Thank you,” Junmyeon says. 

“What for?” Sehun whispers. 

Junmyeon falls asleep before he can answer, but he dreams about _everything_.  
  


☴

He finishes his final portrait on a Tuesday evening just as the sun begins to set. He stands up, hands over his head, and his mouth falls open. It is an intense feeling, a welling of emotion, and he puts his hands in his hair.

“I think I’m done,” he says. “Holy shit, I think I’m done.” 

Sehun sticks his head out of the kitchen. “Really?” 

“Y-Yeah, I think I’m… holy fuck, okay, I think I’m gonna call Max,” Junmyeon says. “Is that crazy? Am I crazy?

Sehun disappears, reappears a moment later drying his hands on a kitchen towel. He grabs Junmyeon, pulling him into his arms, and he hugs him hard. 

“You’re not crazy,” Sehun whispers. “You’re amazing.” Junmyeon kisses Sehun, tastes all the freedom in the world. “Go on.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, call your sugar daddy,” Sehun smiles. 

Junmyeon rolls his eyes, grabs his phone from the ledge, and he closes the bedroom door behind him. He dials Max’s number, and he waits for him to answer as he paces the room. 

“Junmyeon,” Max says. “Good to hear from you.” 

“Hi, uh, I just wanted to let you know I’m finished,” Junmyeon says. “With, um, with the second series.” 

“All twenty-three?” Max asks. “You’re amazing.” 

Junmyeon laughs, coughs over it. “Thank you.” 

“Well, tell you what, I’ll call James right now,” Max says. “He’ll wire you the money immediately, and I’ll have him pick up everything tomorrow. Does that work for you?”

“Yes, of course,” Junmyeon says. “T-Thank you, I honestly can’t thank you enough, I’ve—”

“Junmyeon, it’s the least I can do,” he says. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful working relationship.” 

Junmyeon covers his mouth with his hand, breathes out softly. “Thank you.” 

“Talk to you soon,” Max says. “Take care.” 

“You too,” Junmyeon says, and the call ends. 

Junmyeon holds the phone to his chest, closes his eyes. It still feels like a dream. He gives himself a second to collect himself before he opens the door, passing Sehun as he walks into the empty kitchen. 

“I’m getting paid,” Junmyeon sings. 

“Junmyeon.” 

“Hi, I’m in a really good mood,” Junmyeon sings. “What’s up?” 

“H-Hey,” Sehun says, panicked. “Hey, hey, this is… Junmyeon, it’s open.” 

“What?” 

“It’s open!” 

“What’s open? The paint?” 

“The _painting_.” 

Junmyeon laughs. “If you slit my painting with the palette knife, I will kill you because I will _know_ it wasn’t a mistake.” 

He walks into the living room with a glass of wine in his hand, and he sees Sehun’s broad frame blocking the final painting. When Sehun steps to the side, Junmyeon drops the glass of wine. It shatters and bleeds out over his floor as he stares back at the swirling vortex of the portrait, quietly asking him to step into the light. 

“W-What’s going on?” Junmyeon asks, and he looks at Sehun, terrified. “Babe, what’s—” 

“I think… I think it’s home,” Sehun says, tears in his eyes. “I think I’m supposed to go home.” 

Junmyeon’s heart falls to his feet, and he delicately steps around the broken shards, the bottom of his feet red with alcohol. 

“Y-You should go,” Junmyeon says, and his eyes hurt as he tries to hold back the tears. “You should go home, baby. I… I can’t keep you here forever.” 

“I don’t wanna go without you,” Sehun says, and the tears that spill down his face are beautiful and sad. “Junmyeon, I can’t go back without you.” 

“You have to,” Junmyeon whimpers. “I can’t keep you from going back where you belong.” 

Sehun’s bottom lip wobbles as he steps forward. “I don’t wanna be without you.” 

“I don’t wanna be without you either,” Junmyeon says. 

“Don’t make me go,” Sehun whispers. “Please.” 

“I… I don’t know,” Junmyeon says, and his throat feels like it’s ripping as he tries to hold in the pitiful sob. “I just… I knew this would end at some point, but I didn’t think it would hurt so fucking bad.” 

“Please,” Sehun begs. “I need you. I love you. I’ll never love anyone the way I love you.” 

“Me neither,” Junmyeon says. “Me neither.” 

Sehun comes forward, takes Junmyeon in his arms. Junmyeon tries to imagine a world without Sehun’s light, his love, and it brings him to tears. He nuzzles into Sehun’s chest. He needs to send Sehun home, but he needs to stay with him, stay with him as long as they’re both living. 

“Maybe I could go with you,” Junmyeon says softly. 

Sehun pulls him back by the shoulders, and Junmyeon watches a tear fall from Sehun’s lash to his cheek. “Really?” 

“Do you think I could?” Junmyeon asks. 

“Maybe,” Sehun says. “But a-are you sure? Maybe… maybe you should think it over. I don’t wanna take you away from your life, and you just—” 

Junmyeon acts, one beautiful moment of sure action, and he kisses Sehun with passion and magic and love. They fall into the vortex together, stars dancing along their bodies as they float through galaxies as one, as they’ve always been.  
  


☴

It is a funny feeling, but when he gets to where he was always meant to be, he realizes what Sehun meant way back when they first met. It is drippier.

“I’m so happy you’re home with me,” Sehun says, and his eyes well with tears. “I can’t wait to show you everything.”  
  


☴

Max and James find forty six paintings strewn throughout Junmyeon’s empty apartment.

“We should maybe give it a few days,” Max says, nudging one of the paintings with the toe of his shoe. “Leave the paintings, and then… and see what happens. If no one reports anything, we will.” 

“What if they were kidnapped?” James asks nervously. 

“Well, then I hope someone finds them,” Max says. “They seemed nice. He was…. really, really talented.” 

They approach the final canvas, and in Max’s professional opinion, it is exceedingly strange. Of all the paintings, none featured two subjects, but there, standing with their silhouettes draped in cosmic blue and violet light, are two subjects with their hands entwined. 

“Maybe you were scammed,” James suggests. 

“The paintings are here,” Max says. “God, if we ever get to donate these… he’d be _famous_. _They’d_ be famous.”  
  


☴

In the morning, Junmyeon wakes to the smell of bacon and coffee. Sehun’s apartment is a lot different than his own, but everywhere feels like home as long as Sehun is there.

He goes to the kitchen, finds Sehun flipping an omelet. He looks over his shoulder, and the movement makes Junmyeon dizzy for some reason. 

“Oh, here, sit,” Sehun says, and he turns off the heat, directs Junmyeon to sit in one of the chairs around the table. “My first few days were like that too. I think it takes a minute or two to adjust.” 

“Yeah,” Junmyeon says. “Sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” Sehun smiles. “Here. Breakfast is almost ready. Coffee? Freshly squeezed orange juice?” 

Junmyeon bites his lip. “Sure.” 

Sehun pours him coffee, orange juice, and he places Junmyeon’s omelet in front of him. 

“Wanna hear my plan for the day?” Sehun asks. 

“Sure,” Junmyeon says. 

“We take our time getting you acclimated,” Sehun says. “Take our time getting ready. Then, we can go to the Brooklyn Museum before lots of people flood in. We’ll spend all day there. Sitting. Talking. You can teach me all about the art.” 

“Sehun—” 

“We can get pizza for dinner,” Sehun says. “Walk a little before we go home. Something like that?”

He stares down at his hands, and he finds them streaked with paint. 

“Perfect day,” Junmyeon says, eyes hazy with emotion. 

“Yeah. Perfect day.”  
  


☴

**Author's Note:**

> i poured my heart into this fic over the past 18 days. i really hope you liked it. i can't wait to hear suho's album, it really inspired so much of this. ah, anyway. thank you for reading. let's love and all that. 
> 
> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/okamiwind) | [my curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/okamiwind)


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